Childhood Friends
Who'd hark on my knee to my every word
Of the wide, strange world my vision had stored
From tales that in painter's ink were set."—
Then down on their hearts there snowed regret,
For she understood and suffered no less.
They went to the lake and in deep distress
Sat down with hand to forehead and wept;
But they changed the rings from their fingers then,
For well did they know that never again
Could they give to another the rings they kept.
Of the wide, strange world my vision had stored
From tales that in painter's ink were set."—
Then down on their hearts there snowed regret,
For she understood and suffered no less.
They went to the lake and in deep distress
Sat down with hand to forehead and wept;
But they changed the rings from their fingers then,
For well did they know that never again
Could they give to another the rings they kept.
He went on his way, his spurs he earned
In distant countries where battle burned.
When, blackened with smoke, his horse in a lather,
He led on his men, he was gay and erect.
But when in the noisy night they would gather
Around the camp-fire, forest-decked,
Each one by a girl with a flask at his lips,
Though their coats were bloody and shot into strips;
In silent gloom apart from the crew
He sat, until, as if roused anew
By a bell, he recklessly sprang from the grass;
Then, wilder than all, to his mouth he drew
Each Circe or cluster of grapes he would pass.
The minutes in Time's great hour-glass
More quickly slipped. His cheek was aflame,
More young with every year he became,
A rebel, who at seventy still
Might wait the first wound of his foeman's skill
Which furrows the outer bastion's frame.
In distant countries where battle burned.
When, blackened with smoke, his horse in a lather,
He led on his men, he was gay and erect.
But when in the noisy night they would gather
Around the camp-fire, forest-decked,
Each one by a girl with a flask at his lips,
Though their coats were bloody and shot into strips;
In silent gloom apart from the crew
He sat, until, as if roused anew
By a bell, he recklessly sprang from the grass;
Then, wilder than all, to his mouth he drew
Each Circe or cluster of grapes he would pass.
The minutes in Time's great hour-glass
More quickly slipped. His cheek was aflame,
More young with every year he became,
A rebel, who at seventy still
Might wait the first wound of his foeman's skill
Which furrows the outer bastion's frame.
97
