There was 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 hands And 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 cage And gave them to him to keep. . . . It was very dark in the garden But 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.SourceThe script ran 0.008 seconds.
The script ran 0.008 seconds.
