Maybe it was but yesterday,
Or a hundred years ago.

The roads from Bersabee to Dan
Are old and quickly tire,
But to the heart of child or man
Youth is a fairy fire:
Our youthful roads, they never tire
From Bersabee to Dan.

Ponce de Leon found no spring,
But legend's long, long ruth;
But the grace of God is a magic thing
Abides with chivalrous youth:
The grace of God that brings no ruth
For them who find the spring.

There is a land, there is a May
Beyond the graveyard tree;
Ten thousand years are like a day
Of a youth that we shall see:
Our young hearts pass the graveyard tree
To a land forever in May.

THE BONNIE PRINCE O' SPRING

The little green soldiers are here at last,
With their waving blades and spears;
And across the hills they are marching fast
With the drill of a thousand years:
And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah!
Till I hear their echoing cheers.

A bonnie prince is at their head,
And his love the legions know:
For he gives them rest where the twigs are red
At the hedges cool in a row:
And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune
On the northward march to go.

Oh, I am leal to the marching men,
To my bonnie Prince I'm true;
For he tells me the way to his tented glen,
And the secret password too:
And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear,
Like his own good horsemen do.

Then I will follow on all the day
Where the bonnie Prince has led,
Till we drive the Winter foeman away
And throne my Prince instead:
And sing willaloo! With the birds, willaloo!
For the Winter King is dead.

ON A TRAIN

(For Christine and Tom)

Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands,
Beautiful is summer after rain;
But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands,
And two playful children on a train.

Aileen and her brother, home from holiday,
Left behind them Narragansett town;
Innocence like music followed all the way,
Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.

She that was their escort read a magazine:
They were young, and trains are dull at night;
All the passing signals, red and blue and green,
Counted up the miles for young delight.

I was there behind them, earnest in a book:
Lo, the journey turned to fairyland,
When, like magic mirrors, dusty wind