Sara Teasdale: A Boy

A Boy

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.