To Raoul Bouchard

Dear were your kisses, baby boy, Your weight upon my arm: Gay were your tuneful cries of joy As I danced you round the farm: And sweet your softness when we lay Laughing and cooing in the hay.

The summer sun will shine again, Old arms will mow and reap; There'll be new flowers on the plain, New lambs among the sheep; But never in this world of men Shall we two be as we were then.

Your feet have touched the ground, my bird, And now your wondering eyes Will gaze no more as if they heard A seraph in the skies: A little boy, with leap and shout You'll wildly chase your dreams about.

But when you are a man, soft thing, And life has made you stern, May we who watched you in your spring Still feel our babe return In hallowed moments, such as shine When thought or deed makes man divine.