My Little Boy Poem by Joseph Skipsey

MY little boy, thy laughter
Goes to my bosom core,
And sends me yearning after
The days that are no more.

Adown my cheek is stealing
A briny tear, and I—
But let no selfish feeling
Thy infant mirth destroy.

Fill not with looks so earnest,
Those pretty eyes of thine;
A lot were thine the sternest,
Couldst thou my thought divine.

There's time enough for sorrow,
When Life's pale eve draws near;
The lark lilts thee Good Morrow
Ring out thy laughter clear!