The Boy

 Go, little boy, 
Fill thee with joy; 
For Time gives thee 
Unlicensed hours, 
To run in fields, 
And roll in flowers.


A little boy 
Can life enjoy; 
If but to see 
The horses pass, 
When shut indoors 
Behind the glass.


Go, little boy, 
Fill thee with joy; 
Fear not, like man, 
The kick of wrath, 
That you do lie 
In some one's path.


Time is to thee 
Eternity, 
As to a bird 
Or butterfly; 
And in that faith 
True joy doth lie.

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