Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/22

 So come; though I see not his dear little face And hear not his voice in this jubilant place, I know he were happy to bid me enshrine His memory deep in my heart with your play— Ah me! but a love that is sweeter than mine Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day! And my heart it is lonely—so, little folk, come, March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!