Poor Child

On a mournful day
When my heart was lonely,
O’er and o’er my thought
Conned but one thing only,

Thinking how I lost
Wand’ring in the wild-wood
The companion self
Of my careless childhood.

How, poor child, it was
I shall ne’er discover,
But ’twas just when he
Grew to be thy lover,

With thine eyes of trust
And thy mirth, whereunder
All the world’s hope lay
In thy heart of wonder.

Now, beyond regrets
And faint memories of thee.
Saddest is, poor child,
That I cannot love thee.