I placed it (that summer noontide)
In the pocket which lay on my breast,
But when I went out for my luncheon
I had on a different vest.
I gave it a boy, with a copper,
And he twirl’d it o’er and o’er,
But his fingers were faint and weary
And it fluttered to earth once more.
And I cried, midst my passionate swearing,
“Have I got no bosom friend