88
Not Understood
THE BOY AND THE YEAR
COME out, dear father, come and see this weary-looking man;
His hair is grey and very thin, his face is pale and wan;
With tottering steps he slowly wends his way down yonder hill;
The sun is shining warm and bright, and yet he seems quite chill;
His eye is dimmed by sorrow, yet he has a kingly mien;
I’m sure that he far happier and better days has seen.
I think I know his features well—and yet it cannot be!
Dear father, come and look on him, and tell me who is he?”
His hair is grey and very thin, his face is pale and wan;
With tottering steps he slowly wends his way down yonder hill;
The sun is shining warm and bright, and yet he seems quite chill;
His eye is dimmed by sorrow, yet he has a kingly mien;
I’m sure that he far happier and better days has seen.
I think I know his features well—and yet it cannot be!
Dear father, come and look on him, and tell me who is he?”
“My darling boy, you speak aright, we’ve seen that face before,
But then, instead of sorrow’s streaks, a cheerful smile it wore.
He came to us, ’twill be twelve months ago to-morrow morn;
His brow was crown’d with evergreens and sheaves of golden corn;
We welcomed him with open arms, and many a rural game
Was played to honour him, for joy and gladness with him came;
His eye was filled with manly fire, his breath was fresh and pure;
Majestically he stood erect,—his step was firm and sure.”
But then, instead of sorrow’s streaks, a cheerful smile it wore.
He came to us, ’twill be twelve months ago to-morrow morn;
His brow was crown’d with evergreens and sheaves of golden corn;
We welcomed him with open arms, and many a rural game
Was played to honour him, for joy and gladness with him came;
His eye was filled with manly fire, his breath was fresh and pure;
Majestically he stood erect,—his step was firm and sure.”
