He dreamed away his hours in school; He sat with such an absent air, The master reckoned him a fool, And gave him up in dull despair.
When other lads were making hay you'd find him loafing by the stream; He's take a book and slip away, And just pretend to fish...and dream.
His brothers passed him in the race; They climbed the hill and clutched the prize. He did not seem to heed, his face was tranquil as the evening skies.
He lived apart, he spoke with few; Abstractedly through life he went; Oh, what he dreamed of no one knew, And yet he seemed to be content.
I see him now, so old and grey, His eyes with inward vision dim; And though he faltered on the way, Somehow I almost envied him.
At last beside his bed I stood: "And is Life done so soon?" he sighed; "It's been so rich, so full, so good, I've loved it all..." ---and so he died.
Cool !
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