A Boy

by


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.

9

facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest


Add A Boy to your library.

Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; A Cry

© 2022 AmericanLiterature.com