He seemed just ripe for Heaven.
I asked, "Where are thy parents dear?
Hast thou from them been riven?"
He said, "My parents are not here,
They have gone home to heaven."
A year had sped—I passed that way
On the eve of a balmy autumn day;
I asked, "Where is the charming orphan boy,
With face so radiant with joy?
Is he to the cold world driven?"