The Prodigal

LAST night the boy came back to me again,
The laughing boy, all-credulous of good—
Long lost, far-wandered in the ways of men,
He came and roused me with an olden mood.
He came the lover and enthusiast,
Shook off my years, and with enlightened eyes
Smiled at the shadow that the world had cast,
And looked at life with all the old surprise;
And I, the slave of patience, took him in,
Gave him my heart and bade him welcome home,
Thrilled with his dreams of all I yet may win—
Allured again in golden paths to roam,
And now I know life has no greater joy
Than, having lived, to be once more a boy.