The last acrobat’s been applauded,
And shuffled his way from the mat;
The last bareback rider’s been lauded;
The clown, with his sugar-loaf hat,
Has gone with his powder and spangles;
The diver has made his last leap;
And here in my arms are brown tangles
Of curls, and a boy fast asleep.
One sticky hand rests on my shoulder,
One holds fast the gaudy balloon,
That shrinks, and before it’s much older
Will fade like the glad afternoon.
His dreams, it may be, of the maddest
Of somersaults, recklessly hurled;
The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest
And stickiest lad in the world!
And oh, but the spangles were splendid!
And oh, but the music was grand!
The side-splitting clown laughter blended
With soul-stirring airs by the band,
Till naught of the glad marvel lingers
Save what in his dreams he may keep,
As he clasps his balloon with close fingers
And rests in my arms, fast asleep.
And so from these joys without number,
Ere aught of the glitter was gone,
He went to his dream-laden slumber,
Where on plays the music, and on.
For him all the revel is maddest,
For him not a flag has been furled,
The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest
And stickiest lad in the world!
ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS
THE BARRIERS
SCRUB out his freckles, ’twas Nature who gave ’em;
Silence his whistle and comb out his hair,
Muffle his footsteps, for People—Lord save ’em em—
Want something noiseless and soulless and fair;
Bleach out the spots where the Summer sun kissed him,
Still all the tunes and the bird calls he knew,
Then, when he’s boy no more, who could resist him?
Sun and the Wind, here’s a lesson for you.