A BAREFOOT BOY
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play—For May is here once more, and so is he,—His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in arrayOf feverish stripes, hint vividly to meOf woody pathways winding endlesslyAlong the creek, where even yesterdayHe plunged his shrinking body—gasped and shook—Yet called the water “warm,” with never lackOf joy. And so, half enviously I lookUpon this graceless barefoot and his track,—His toe stubbed—ay, his big toe-nail knocked backLike unto the clasp of an old pocket-book.
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play—For May is here once more, and so is he,—His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in arrayOf feverish stripes, hint vividly to meOf woody pathways winding endlesslyAlong the creek, where even yesterdayHe plunged his shrinking body—gasped and shook—Yet called the water “warm,” with never lackOf joy. And so, half enviously I lookUpon this graceless barefoot and his track,—His toe stubbed—ay, his big toe-nail knocked backLike unto the clasp of an old pocket-book.
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play—For May is here once more, and so is he,—His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in arrayOf feverish stripes, hint vividly to meOf woody pathways winding endlesslyAlong the creek, where even yesterdayHe plunged his shrinking body—gasped and shook—Yet called the water “warm,” with never lackOf joy. And so, half enviously I lookUpon this graceless barefoot and his track,—His toe stubbed—ay, his big toe-nail knocked backLike unto the clasp of an old pocket-book.
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play—
For May is here once more, and so is he,—
His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,
And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:
Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array
Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me
Of woody pathways winding endlessly
Along the creek, where even yesterday
He plunged his shrinking body—gasped and shook—
Yet called the water “warm,” with never lack
Of joy. And so, half enviously I look
Upon this graceless barefoot and his track,—
His toe stubbed—ay, his big toe-nail knocked back
Like unto the clasp of an old pocket-book.