And I say, as these fancies I weave,
“That is Tom, and the woman he wooed.”
The years roll on, and then I see
A wedding picture, bright and fair;
I look closer, and it’s plain to me
That is Tom, with the silver hair.
He gives away the lovely bride,
And the guests linger, loth to leave
The house of him in whom they pride,—
Brave Tom, old Tom, with the empty sleeve.