Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WILL, by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Your face, my boy, when six months old Last Line: And more than father, will! Subject(s): Fathers & Sons | ||||||||
YOUR face, my boy, when six months old, We propped you laughing in a chair, And the sun-artist caught the gold Which rippled o'er your waving hair! And deftly shadowed forth the while That blooming cheek, that roguish smile, Those dimples seldom still: The tiny, wondering, wide-eyed elf! Now, can you recognize yourself In that small portrait, Will? I glance at it, then turn to you, Where in your healthful ease you stand, No beauty, -- but a youth as true, And pure as any in the land! For Nature, through fair sylvan ways, Hath led and gladdened all your days, Kept free from sordid ill; Hath filled your veins with blissful fire, And winged your instincts to aspire Sunward, and Godward, Will! Long-limbed and lusty, with a stride That leaves me many a pace behind, You roam the woodlands, far and wide, You quaff great draughts of country wind; While tree and wildflower, lake and stream, Deep shadowy nook, and sunshot gleam, Cool vale and far-off hill, Each plays its mute mysterious part, In that strange growth of mind and heart I joy to witness, Will! "Can this tall youth," I sometimes say, "Be mine? my son?" it surely seems Scarce further backward than a day, Since watching o'er your feverish dreams In that child-illness of the brain, I thought (O Christ, with what keen pain!) Your pulse would soon be still, That all your boyish sports were o'er, And I, heart-broken, nevermore Should call, or clasp you, Will! But Heaven was kind, death passed you by; And now upon your arm I lean, My second self, of clearer eye, Of firmer nerve, and steadier mien; Through you, methinks, my long-lost youth Revives, from whose sweet founts of truth And joy, I drink my fill: I feel your every heart-throb, know What inmost hopes within you glow, One soul's between us, Will! Pray Heaven that this be always so! That ever on your soul and mine Though my thin locks grow white as snow, The self-same radiant trust may shine; Pray that while this, my life, endures, It aye may sympathize with yours In thought, aim, action still; That you, O son (till comes the end), In me may find your comrade, friend, And more than father, Will! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION by TONY HOAGLAND MY FATHER'S CORPSE by ANDREW HUDGINS LOST CHILDHOOD by DAVID IGNATOW TO MY FATHER'S BUSINESS by KENNETH KOCH STUDY IN BLACK & WHITE by PAUL MARIANI MOVING AGAIN by WILLIAM MATTHEWS A STORM IN THE DISTANCE (AMONG THE GEORGIAN HILLS) by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE |
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