Edgar Albert Guest

The Boy That Was

When the hair about the temples starts to show
 the signs of gray,
And a fellow realizes that he’s wandering far
 away
From the pleasures of his boyhood and his
 youth, and never more
Will know the joy of laughter as he did in days
 of yore,
Oh, it’s then he starts to thinking of a stubby
 little lad
With a face as brown as berries and a soul
 supremely glad.
 
When a gray-haired dreamer wanders down the
 lanes of memory
And forgets the living present for the time of
 ‘used-to-be,’
He takes off his shoes and stockings, and he
 throws his coat away,
And he’s free from all restrictions, save the rules
 of manly play.
He may be in richest garments, but bareheaded
 in the sun
He forgets his proud successes and the riches
 he has won.
 
Oh, there’s not a man alive but that would give
 his all to be
The stubby little fellow that in dreamland he
 can see,
And the splendors that surround him and the
 joys about him spread
Only seem to rise to taunt him with the boyhood
 that has fled.
When the hair about the temples starts to show
 Time’s silver stain,
Then the richest man that’s living yearns to be
 a boy again.
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