While far beyond in the marts of men
The quest of the world goes by.
'Mid the deadening calm they long for stress,
For bugles, for banners unfurled;
They'd slip their anchors today if they could
To sail the ports of the world!
The quest of the world goes by.
'Mid the deadening calm they long for stress,
For bugles, for banners unfurled;
They'd slip their anchors today if they could
To sail the ports of the world!
WITH LITTLE BOY BLUE
(Answer to Eugene Field)
SILENT he watched them, the soldier and dog,
Tin toys on the little arm chair,
Keeping their tryst through the slow-going years
For the hand that stationed them there;
And he said that perchance the dust and the rust
Hid the griefs that the toy friends knew,
And his heart watched with them all the dark years,
Yearning ever for Little Boy Blue.
Tin toys on the little arm chair,
Keeping their tryst through the slow-going years
For the hand that stationed them there;
And he said that perchance the dust and the rust
Hid the griefs that the toy friends knew,
And his heart watched with them all the dark years,
Yearning ever for Little Boy Blue.
Three mourners they were for Little Boy Blue,
Three ere the cold wings had begun;
Now two are left watching—the soldier and dog—
But for him the vigil is done;
For him, too, the angel has chanted a song,
A song that is lulling and true—
He has seen the white gates of the mansions of rest
Thrown wide by his Little Boy Blue.
Three ere the cold wings had begun;
Now two are left watching—the soldier and dog—
But for him the vigil is done;
For him, too, the angel has chanted a song,
A song that is lulling and true—
He has seen the white gates of the mansions of rest
Thrown wide by his Little Boy Blue.
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