Their Feathers Be

Pliny the Elder was not overly impressed by my attempt to talk like a pirate.

It didn't quite sound like a pirate, he said.

Yes it did, I said. It was full of me hearties, and arrgghs.

The me hearties and arrgghs were convincing, said Pliny, but you too often lapsed into language more suited to a fisherman.

I know what you mean, I said. I am more of a Captain Ahab than a Long John Silver. But at least I tried.

Yes, agreed Pliny, at least you tried.

And what have you been up to lately? I asked, in order to change the subject.

It is strange you should ask, he replied. For it is related to something in the poem you have been talking about for the last two days. The one that ends in how late their Feathers be!

It isn't how late their Feathers be! I said. That was a typographical error.

That may be your opinion said Pliny, but I think Fathers is the typographical error. You know that Emily Dickinson's spelling was rather idiosyncratic, and was often revised by later editors?

Not to that extent, I said crossly. And anyway, nowadays the revisions have been reversed, due to the modern idea that an author knows best what they mean to write. Anyway, let's for the sake of argument say it is Feathers. What then?

Nothing, said Pliny. It is not to do with the poem.

But you said that it was!

No, I said that it was related to something in the poem. And that something was Feathers.

Pliny!

What?

You're cod-bafflin'! Arrggh!

I fail to see.....but yes, we'll leave my Feathers till tomorrow.