He was riding in a street car, probably, and a little girl next to him, while sitting upon her nurse's lap, fell asleep, and as she slept let her head fall upon his shoulder.

This is a very simple thing to make a poem about, but what a poem it is! Oh, that the road were longer A mile, or two, or three! So might the thought grow stronger That flows from touch of thee.
_Oh little slumbering maid, If thou wert five years older, Thine head would not be laid So simply on my shoulder!_ _Oh, would that I were younger, Oh, were I more like thee, I should not faintly hunger For love that cannot be._ A girl might be caressed Beside me freely sitting; A child on knee might rest, And not like thee, unwitting.
Such honour is thy mother's, Who smileth on thy sleep, Or for the nurse who smothers Thy cheek in kisses deep.
And but for parting day, And but for forest shady, From me they'd take away The burden of their lady.
Ah thus to feel thee leaning Above the nursemaid's hand, Is like a stranger's gleaning Where rich men own the land; Chance gains, and humble thrift, With shyness much like thieving, No notice with the gift, No thanks with the receiving.
Oh peasant, when thou starvest Outside the fair domain, Imagine there's a harvest In every treasured grain.
Make with thy thoughts high cheer, Say grace for others dining, And keep thy pittance clear From poison of repining.
There is an almost intolerable acuity of sadness in the last two mocking verses, but how pretty and how tender the whole thing is, and how gentle-hearted must have been the man who wrote it! The same tenderness reappears in references to children of a larger growth, the boys of his school.

Sometimes he very much regrets the necessity of discipline, and advocates a wiser method of dealing with the young.

How very pretty is this little verse about the boy he loves.
Sweet eyes, that aim a level shaft, At pleasure flying from afar, Sweet lips, just parted for a draught Of Hebe's nectar, shall I mar By stress of disciplinal craft The joys that in your freedom are?
But a little reflection further on in the same poem reminds us how necessary the discipline must be for the battle of life, inasmuch as each of those charming boys will have to fight against evil-- yet shall ye cope With worlding wrapped in silken lies, With pedant, hypocrite, and pope.
One might easily lecture about this little volume for many more days, so beautiful are the things which fill it.

But enough has been cited to exemplify its unique value.