Volume I Part 94 (1/2)
SOMETIMES
Across the fields of yesterday He sometimes comes to me, A little lad just back from play-- The lad I used to be.
And yet he smiles so wistfully Once he has crept within, I wonder if he hopes to see The man I might have been.
Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882-1932]
THE LITTLE GHOSTS
Where are they gone, and do you know If they come back at fall o' dew, The little ghosts of long ago, That long ago were you?
And all the songs that ne'er were sung.
And all the dreams that ne'er came true, Like little children dying young-- Do they come back to you?
Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882-1932]
MY OTHER ME
Children, do you ever, In walks by land or sea, Meet a little maiden Long time lost to me?
She is gay and gladsome, Has a laughing face, And a heart as sunny; And her name is Grace.
Naught she knows of sorrow, Naught of doubt or blight; Heaven is just above her-- All her thoughts are white.
Long time since I lost her, That other Me of mine; She crossed, into Time's shadow Out of Youth's suns.h.i.+ne.
Now the darkness keeps her; And, call her as I will, The years that lie between us Hide her from me still.
I am dull and pain-worn, And lonely as can be-- Oh, children, if you meet her, Send back my other Me!
Grace Denio Litchfield [1849-
A SHADOW BOAT
Under my keel another boat Sails as I sail, floats as I float; Silent and dim and mystic still, It steals through that weird nether-world, Mocking my power, though at my will The foam before its prow is curled, Or calm it lies, with canvas furled.
Vainly I peer, and fain would see What phantom in that boat may be; Yet half I dread, lest I with ruth Some ghost of my dead past divine, Some gracious shape of my lost youth, Whose deathless eyes once fixed on mine Would draw me downward through the brine!
Arlo Bates [1850-1918]
A LAD THAT IS GONE
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone; Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye.
Mull was astern, Rum on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow; Glory of youth glowed in his soul: Where is that glory now?
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone; Say, could that lad be I?