Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866]
SOMETIMES
Across the fields of yesterday
He sometimes comes to me,
A little lad just back from play—
The lad I used to be.
And yet he smiles so wistfully
Once he has crept within,
I wonder if he hopes to see
The man I might have been.
Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882-1932]
THE LITTLE GHOSTS
Where are they gone, and do you know
If they come back at fall o' dew,
The little ghosts of long ago,
That long ago were you?
And all the songs that ne'er were sung.
And all the dreams that ne'er came true,
Like little children dying young—
Do they come back to you?