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Edgar Guest - Pleasure`s Signs
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There`s a bump on his brow and a smear on his cheek
  That is plainly the stain of his tears;
At his neck there`s a glorious sun-painted streak,
  The bronze of his happiest years.
Oh, he`s battered and bruised at the end of the day,
  But smiling before me he stands,
And somehow I like to behold him that way.
  Yes, I like him with dirt on his hands.

Last evening he painfully limped up to me
  His tale of adventure to tell;
He showed me a grime-covered cut on his knee,
  And told me the place where he fell.
His clothing was stained to the color of clay,
  And he looked to be nobody`s lad,
But somehow I liked to behold him that way,
  For it spoke of the fun that he`d had.

Let women-folk prate as they will of a boy
  Who is heedless of knickers and shirt;
I hold that the badge of a young fellow`s joy
  Are cheeks that are covered with dirt.
So I look for him nightly to greet me that way,
  His joys and misfortunes to tell,
For I know by the signs that he wears of his play
  That the lad I`m so fond of is well.
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