THERE WAS A CHILD ONCE
Therewas a child once.He came to play in my garden;He was quite pale and silent.Only when he smiled I knew everything about him,I knew what he had in his pockets,And I knew the feel of his hands in my handsAnd the most intimate tones of his voice.I led him down each secret path,Showing him the hiding-place of all my treasures.I let him play with them, every one,I put my singing thoughts in a little silver cageAnd gave them to him to keep ...It was very dark in the gardenBut never dark enough for us. On tiptoe we walked among the deepest shades;We bathed in the shadow pools beneath the trees,Pretending we were under the sea.Once—near the boundary of the garden—We heard steps passing along the World-road;O how frightened we were!I whispered: “Have you ever walked along that road?”He nodded, and we shook the tears from our eyes....There was a child once.He came—quite alone—to play in my garden;He was pale and silent.When we met we kissed each other,But when he went away, we did not even wave.1912.
Therewas a child once.He came to play in my garden;He was quite pale and silent.Only when he smiled I knew everything about him,I knew what he had in his pockets,And I knew the feel of his hands in my handsAnd the most intimate tones of his voice.I led him down each secret path,Showing him the hiding-place of all my treasures.I let him play with them, every one,I put my singing thoughts in a little silver cageAnd gave them to him to keep ...It was very dark in the gardenBut never dark enough for us. On tiptoe we walked among the deepest shades;We bathed in the shadow pools beneath the trees,Pretending we were under the sea.Once—near the boundary of the garden—We heard steps passing along the World-road;O how frightened we were!I whispered: “Have you ever walked along that road?”He nodded, and we shook the tears from our eyes....There was a child once.He came—quite alone—to play in my garden;He was pale and silent.When we met we kissed each other,But when he went away, we did not even wave.1912.
Therewas a child once.He came to play in my garden;He was quite pale and silent.Only when he smiled I knew everything about him,I knew what he had in his pockets,And I knew the feel of his hands in my handsAnd the most intimate tones of his voice.I led him down each secret path,Showing him the hiding-place of all my treasures.I let him play with them, every one,I put my singing thoughts in a little silver cageAnd gave them to him to keep ...It was very dark in the gardenBut never dark enough for us. On tiptoe we walked among the deepest shades;We bathed in the shadow pools beneath the trees,Pretending we were under the sea.Once—near the boundary of the garden—We heard steps passing along the World-road;O how frightened we were!I whispered: “Have you ever walked along that road?”He nodded, and we shook the tears from our eyes....There was a child once.He came—quite alone—to play in my garden;He was pale and silent.When we met we kissed each other,But when he went away, we did not even wave.
1912.