There was a Child Once

 There was a child once.

He came to play in my garden;
He was quite pale and silent.

Only when he smiled I knew everything about him,
I knew what he had in his pockets,
And I knew the feel of his hands in my hands
And the most intimate tones of his voice.

I led him down each secret path,
Showing him the hiding-place of all my treasures.

I let him play with them, every one,
I put my singing thoughts in a little silver cage
And gave them to him to keep.
.
.

It was very dark in the garden
But never dark enough for us.
 On tiptoe we walked
among the deepest shades;
We bathed in the shadow pools beneath the trees,
Pretending we were under the sea.

Once--near the boundary of the garden--
We heard steps passing along the World-road;
O how frightened we were!
I whispered: "Have you ever walked along that road?"
He nodded, and we shook the tears from our eyes.
.
.
.


There was a child once.

He came--quite alone--to play in my garden;
He was pale and silent.

When we met we kissed each other,
But when he went away, we did not even wave

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