On a boy whose wan eyelids were closed as in swoon.

Half nude on the ground he lay, wasted and chilly,

And torn as with thorns and sharp brambles of June;

His hair, like a flame which at twilight burns stilly,

In a halo of light round his temples was blown,

And his tears fell like rain on a storm-stricken lily

[70]

Where he lay on the cold ground, abandoned, alone.

With heart moved towards him in wondering pity,

I tenderly seized his thin hand with my own:

Crying, "Child, say how cam'st thou so far from the city?

How cam'st thou alone in such pitiful plight,

All blood-stained thy feet, with rags squalid and gritty,

A waif by the wayside, unhoused in the night?"

Then rose he and lifted the bright locks, storm driven,

Which flamed round his forehead and clouded his sight,

And mournful as meres on a moorland at even

His blue eyes flashed wildly through tears as they fell.

Strange eyes full of horror, yet fuller of heaven,

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