Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/81

 And often, underneath the apple-trees,
 * When we surprised him in the summer time,

With what superb magnificence and ease
 * He sinned enough to make the day sublime!

And if he liked us there about his knees,
 * Truly it was no crime.

All summer long we loved him for the same
 * Perennial inspiration of his lies;

And when the russet wealth of autumn came,
 * There flew but fairer visions to our eyes—

Multiple, tropical, winged with a feathery flame,
 * Like birds of paradise.

So to the sheltered end of many a year
 * He charmed the seasons out with pageantry,

Wearing upon his forehead, with no fear,
 * The laurel of approved iniquity.

And every child who knew him, far or near,
 * Did love him faithfully.