Show Loves Love's ove s in first JC sweet JW Pain rain Theres There's not a season season of the jear year that that tolls its passing bell Upon the shores of life lite and love with weird and mystic spell That does not bring to me a thought time cannot overrule Of the dear dear and and manly boy I used to love at school j c When shadows slowly lengthened on the dial plate of or time He brought me pink arbutus In In the sweetness sweetness sweet sweet- sweetness ness of its prime And eyed blue dewy violets from out ut the summer woods And daisies from the hillside In In their snow hoods while downy willows pussy-willows as they fringed the frozen pool Were laid upon my y lit little le desk by the boy I loved at school He used t to to steal me roses roses through the Squires Squire's e old d garden e fence See tt t Ive I've never seen them halt half as large or smell as sweetly since No other girl could ever coax a single one away By smile or winsome gesture for my knight was true as day And Andl I fondly remember spite of des destiny's tiny's misrule The headed curly i blue eyed led eo-led boy I al always always al- al ways loved at t school He brought me white pearl dainty eggs from the yellow hammers nest And nd many an orphaned red-breast red but toned in his little vest He lIe whittled trophies trophies' of his MB skill with knife knife- of Christmas fame And homeward drew me on his sled when snows of winter came And when the day of choosing sides came round as was the rule My name was always first one called called called-b called called-by by the boy I loved at school Alas those days are numbered on the rosary of time Each bead a jeweled memory set In workmanship workmanship work work- manship sublime And as all I count them oer o'er and oer o'er upon the mystic chain I swing youths youth's censer full of hopes hope's sweet incense once again The winged white I sips ships t of thought sail out on memory's open sea sea Returning with their souvenirs of precious precious pre pre- cious freight to me And with an ardor born of faith that age can never cool I think about the little boy I used to love at school Anna Bugg Halliday |