Best

Ah, well for the man who can wander through,

Forever, the ways that his boyhood knew;

Who after the years can sit and dream,

In an old-time nook by an old-time stream,

Of his boyhood days, and the ways he knew

When the world was young and the skies were blue;

And can hear the whippoorwill again

Send its call afar as it sent it then,

And can sink to sleep in the same old room

That smelled of the pine’s far-blown perfume;

In the same white bed that was made for him

Way back in the years that are growing dim.

Ah, well for the man who can pass away

Life’s resting-time where the yesterday

Heard his whistle shrill, with its lilt of joy

As sweet—as the soul of a barefoot boy

From its holding chamber had been unbound

And he steeped the world in a wave of sound;

Who can go the ways that his father knew,

And the paths that his own feet wandered through

In the old, old days now far and dim

When the world seemed a bubble just blown for him;

And life was a bubbling drink and clear

Of tinkling song in the yesteryear.

Who can go alone down the pathways dim

Where he walked with a maid who loved but him,

When the purple, starlit skies above

Seemed full of voices attuned to love;

Who can go alone o’er the meadow hill

In the evening’s hush, when the whippoorwill

Sings its saddest songs, and can pause beside

The ones who loved him—the ones who died

When he was young, in a world unknown;

Who kissed him and went on their way—alone.

When the blood runs slow it is well to rest

By the graves of those who have loved us best.

        Lilts O Love Table Of Contents