HE was twenty-one in April -- forty inches round the chest, A soupler or a better boy we'll never see again -- And the way we cheered the lad when he started for the West! The town was like a holiday, the time he took the train At Calabogie. "Are ye ever comin' back with the fortune, little Dan, From the place they say the ybody read them, and who could see the harm? Tellin' how he'd keep the promise to come home and have a rest; And the money that was in them was enough to buy a farm At Calabogie. What is it that makes the fever leave the weak and kill the strong, And who'd'a' thought our Dannie would ever come to this? When the Sister had to raise him, and say, "It won't be ver see again God forgive us! 't wasn't much of a Merry Christmas Day At Calabogie! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHING by ROBERT FROST BITTER-SWEET: CRADLE SONG [OR, BABYHOOD] by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND THE ANNOYER by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS MUSIC; AND THE SAVAGE BREAST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MY LITTLE GARDEN by GWENDOLEN ALLEN MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE PORCH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 42 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |