Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/151

Rh When other lads were making hay You’d find him loafing by the stream; He’d take a book and slip away, And just pretend to fish… and dream.

His brothers passed him in the race; They climbed the hill and clutched the prize. He did not seem to heed, his face Was tranquil as the evening skies.

He lived apart, he spoke with few; Abstractedly through life he went; Oh, what he dreamed of no one knew, And yet he seemed to be content.

I see him now, so old and gray, His eyes with inward vision dim; And though he faltered on the way, Somehow I almost envied him.

At last beside his bed I stood: “And is Life done so soon?” he sighed; “It’s been so rich, so full, so good, I've loved it all…”–and so he died.

''Another day.