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Poem	Some deem I'm gentle, some I'm kind: It may be so,--I cannot say. I know I have a simple mind And see things in a simple way; And like a child I love to play. I love to toy with pretty words And syllable them into rhyme; To make them sing like sunny birds In happy droves with silver chime, In dulcet groves in summer time. I pray, with hair more white than grey, And second childhood coming on, That yet with wonderment I may See life as in its lucent dawn, And be by beauty so beguiled I'll sing as sings a child.
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