All his wandering fancies tame:
Only, lest we quite forget him—
We that used to spoil and pet him—
Grant him through his penance sad
But one gift his childhood had—
Neither torch nor shaft nor bow,
But the smile we used to know.
Henry Johnstone.
All his wandering fancies tame:
Only, lest we quite forget him—
We that used to spoil and pet him—
Grant him through his penance sad
But one gift his childhood had—
Neither torch nor shaft nor bow,
But the smile we used to know.
Henry Johnstone.