I COULD not run or play In boyhood. In manhood I could only sip the cup, Not drink -- For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased. Yet I lie here Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows: There is a garden of acacia, Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines -- There on that afternoon in June By Mary's side -- Kissing her with my soul upon my lips It suddenly took flight. |