WASTED DAYS

A Poem by Jess

A fair slim boy not made for this world's pain,
With hair of gold thick clustering round his ears,
And longing eyes half veiled with foolish tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain,
Pale cheeks where on no kiss had left it stain,
Red under-lip drawn for fear of LOVE
And white throat whiter than the breast of dove-
Alas!alas!if all should be in vain

Cornfields behind,and reaper all a-row
In weariest labour tolling weary,
To no sweet sound of laughter or of lute.

And careless of the crimson sunset glow,
The boy still dreams;
Nor knows that night is night,
And in the night time no man gathers fruit.