<h2><SPAN name="chap49"></SPAN>AN OLD SONG</h2>
<p class="poem">
When I was but a young lad,<br/>
And that is long ago,<br/>
I thought that luck loved every man,<br/>
And time his only foe,<br/>
And love was like a hawthorn bush<br/>
That blossomed every May,<br/>
And had but to choose his flower,<br/>
For that’s the young lad’s way.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, youth’s a thriftless squanderer,<br/>
It’s easy come and spent,<br/>
And heavy is the going now<br/>
Where once the light foot went.<br/>
The hawthorn bush puts on its white,<br/>
The throstle whistles clear,<br/>
But Spring comes once for every man<br/>
Just once in all the year.<br/></p>
<p class="left">
ARTHUR KETCHUM</p>
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