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Edgar Guest - Memory
Work rating: Medium

I stood and watched him playing,
    A little lad of three,
And back to me came straying
    The years that used to be;
In him the boy was Maying
    Who once belonged to me.

The selfsame brown his eyes were
    As those that once I knew;
As glad and gay his cries were,
    He owned his laughter, too.
His features, form and size were
    My baby`s, through and through.

His ears were those I`d sung to;
    His chubby little hands
Were those that I had clung to;
    His hair in golden strands
It seemed my heart was strung to
    By love`s unbroken bands.

With him I lived the old days
    That seem so far away;
The beautiful and bold days
    When he was here to play;
The sunny and the gold days
    Of that remembered May.

I know not who he may be
    Nor where his home may be,
But I shall every day be
    In hope again to see
The image of the baby
    Who once belonged to me.
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