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NO BOY KNOWS

  There are many things that boys may know—­
  Why this and that are thus and so,—­
  Who made the world in the dark and lit
  The great sun up to lighten it: 
  Boys know new things every day—­
  When they study, or when they play,—­
  When they idle, or sow and reap—­
  But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

  Boys who listen—­or should, at least,—­
  May know that the round old earth rolls East;—­
  And know that the ice and the snow and the rain—­
  Ever repeating their parts again—­
  Are all just water the sunbeams first
  Sip from the earth in their endless thirst,
  And pour again till the low streams leap.—­
  But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

  A boy may know what a long glad while
  It has been to him since the dawn’s first smile,
  When forth he fared in the realm divine
  Of brook-laced woodland and spun-sunshine;—­
  He may know each call of his truant mates,
  And the paths they went,—­and the pasture-gates
  Of the ’cross-lots home through the dusk so deep.—­
  But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

  O I have followed me, o’er and o’er,
  From the flagrant drowse on the parlor-floor,
  To the pleading voice of the mother when
  I even doubted I heard it then—­
  To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit room,
  And dewy odors of locust-bloom—­
  A sweet white cot—­and a cricket’s cheep.—­
  But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

[Illustration]

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[Illustration:  “NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP.”]

* * * * *

WHEN WE FIRST PLAYED “SHOW”

  Wasn’t it a good time,
      Long Time Ago—­
  When we all were little tads
      And first played “Show"!—­
  When every newer day
      Wore as bright a glow
  As the ones we laughed away—­
      Long Time Ago!

  Calf was in the back-lot;
      Clover in the red;
  Bluebird in the pear-tree;
      Pigeons on the shed;
  Tom a-chargin’ twenty pins
      At the barn; and Dan
  Spraddled out just like “The
      ’Injarubber’-Man!”

  Me and Bub and Rusty,
      Eck and Dunk and Sid,
  ‘Tumblin’ on the sawdust
      Like the A-rabs did;
  Jamesy on the slack-rope
    In a wild retreat,
  Grappling back, to start again—­
    When he chalked his feet!

[Illustration]

  Wasn’t Eck a wonder,
    In his stocking-tights?

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE.”]

* * * * *

  Wasn’t Dunk—­his leaping lion—­
    Chief of all delights! 
  Yes, and wasn’t “Little Mack”
    Boss of all the Show,—­
  Both Old Clown and Candy-Butcher—­
    Long Time Ago!