Asleep At The Circus

Now the last roasted peanut is swallowed, The last clown has gone on parade; The last sugared popcorn been followed By sips of the last lemonade. His eyes, once so big, that shone brightly Through all of the glad afternoon, Are shut, and his fingers close tightly And cling to his gaudy balloon.

The last acrobat’s been applauded, And shuffled his way from the mat; The last bareback rider’s been lauded; The clown, with his sugar-loaf hat, Has gone with his powder and spangles; The diver has made his last leap; And here in my arms are brown tangles Of curls, and a boy fast asleep.

One sticky hand rests on my shoulder, One holds fast the gaudy balloon, That shrinks, and before it’s much older Will fade like the glad afternoon. His dreams, it may be, of the maddest Of somersaults, recklessly hurled; The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest And stickiest lad in the world!

And oh, but the spangles were splendid! And oh, but the music was grand! The side-splitting clown laughter blended With soul-stirring airs by the band, Till naught of the glad marvel lingers Save what in his dreams he may keep, As he clasps his balloon with close fingers And rests in my arms, fast asleep.

And so from these joys without number, Ere aught of the glitter was gone, He went to his dream-laden slumber, Where on plays the music, and on. For him all the revel is maddest, For him not a flag has been furled, The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest And stickiest lad in the world!