Classic Poem

He never knew the golden thrall of youth,
The ringing step, the rumpled wind-tossed hair,
The reckless laugh untouched of pain or ruth,--
Youth without pity and without a care.

Not his the swift lithe strength that ever slays,
And in its joyous slaying doubly sweet,
Like some young god adown immortal ways,
Crushing the blossoms 'neath unheeding feet.

A twisted back, a face year-scarred and grim,
A very mockery to love's caress,
These were the only birthright given him,--
What should he know, except of ugliness?

But in his fettered heart in longing pent
A wealth of tenderness and, stranger too,
Youth full of pity,--ah, the wonderment,--
He never knew, and yet how well he knew!