The Idiot Boy

Who stands between thee and the sun?--
A cloud himself,--the Wandering One!
A vacant wonder in the eyes,--
The mind, a blank, unwritten scroll;--
The light was in the laughing skies,
And darkness in the Idiot's soul.
He touch'd the book upon her knee--
He look'd into her gentle face--
"Thou dost not tremble, maid, to see
Poor Arthur by thy dwelling-place.
I know not why, but where I pass
The aged turn away;
And if my shadow vex the grass,
The children cease from play.
My only playmates are the wind,
The blossom on the bough!
"Why are thy looks so soft and kind?
Thou dost not tremble--thou!"
Though none were by, she trembled not--
Too meek to wound, too good to fear him;
And, as he linger'd on the spot,
She hid the tears that gush'd to hear him.--