A Boy

By Sara Teasdale

Out of the noise of tired people working,

Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead,

His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing,

Clean boyish beauty and high-held head.

Eyes that told secrets, lips that would not tell them,

Fearless and shy the young unwearied eyes —

Men die by millions now, because God blunders,

Yet to have made this boy he must be wise.