Old David Smail

He dreamed away his hours in school;

He sat with such an absent air,

The master reckoned him a fool,

And gave him up in dull despair.

When other lads were making hay

You'd find him loafing by the stream;

He'd take a book and slip away,

And just pretend to fish... and dream.

His brothers passed him in the race;

They climbed the hill and clutched the prize.

He did not seem to heed, his face

Was tranquil as the evening skies.

He lived apart, he spoke with few;

Abstractedly through life he went;

Oh, what he dreamed of no one knew,

And yet he seemed to be content.

I see him now, so old and gray,

His eyes with inward vision dim;

And though he faltered on the way,

Somehow I almost envied him.

At last beside his bed I stood:

“And is Life done so soon?” he sighed;

“It's been so rich, so full, so good,

I've loved it all...” — and so he died.