A Boy

Sara Teasdale

Out of the noise of tired people working,
 Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead,
His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing,
 Clean boyish beauty and high-held head.

Eyes that told secrets, lips that would not tell them,
 Fearless and shy the young unwearied eyes —
Men die by millions now, because God blunders,
 Yet to have made this boy he must be wise.

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