In the high leaves of a walnut, 
On the very topmost boughs, 
A boy that climbed the branching bole 
His cradled limbs would house.

On the airy bed that rocked him 
Long, idle hours he'd lie 
Alone with white clouds sailing 
The warm blue of the sky.

I remember not what his dreams were; 
But the scent of a leaf's enough 
To house me higher than those high boughs 
In a youth he knew not of,

In a light that no day brings now 
But none can spoil or smutch, 
A magic that I felt not then 
And only now I touch.