The Parted Ways

I used to know a little lad, A youngster of thirteen, Who wasn’t very good or bad, But somewhere in between. He had such freckles on his nose As your nose seems to bear; Indeed, I’d almost think that those Were some he used to wear.

He used to have an old straw hat All frazzled at the brim, Indeed, I’d almost think that that Came down to you from him. And he had such a dog as now Barks joyfully along With you--it makes me wonder how It could have lived so long.

And in his heart he held such song As fell upon my ear, And echoed through the shadows long When you came whistling near; So when at twilight, dawn or noon This overture you bring, It seems to be the very tune This other lad would sing.

And he had pockets bulged with things By which he set much store, With knives and marbles, tops and strings And half a hundred more; I see your pockets emptied now, Your things cast up with care, Until they seem to be, somehow, His treasures you have there.

I know not where it was or when, But with his heart of song He went and came not back again, And took his dreams along; So some day in a little while He’ll wave a sun-browned hand. And leave you with his cheery smile-- And you will understand.