Memory

I stood and watched him playing,

A little lad of three,

And back to me came straying

The years that used to be;

In him the boy was Maying

Who once belonged to me.

The selfsame brown his eyes were

As those that once I knew;

As glad and gay his cries were,

He owned his laughter, too.

His features, form and size were

My baby's, through and through.

His ears were those I'd sung to;

His chubby little hands

Were those that I had clung to;

His hair in golden strands

It seemed my heart was strung to

By love's unbroken bands.

With him I lived the old days

That seem so far away;

The beautiful and bold days

When he was here to play;

The sunny and the gold days

Of that remembered May.

I know not who he may be

Nor where his home may be,

But I shall every day be

In hope again to see

The image of the baby

Who once belonged to me.