It was—I don't know what it was!—
The sweetest, sorriest smell of all.
It crept in smoke-rings over the grass,
And hung, and would not rise or fall.
I think the old man must have known
What smell it was, but would not say.
He shuffled slowly off alone
When summer all was burned away.
One day when I'm a very old man
Perhaps I'll be as wise as he ...