Excerpt from The Writings in Prose and Verse of Eugene Field: Poems of Childhood So come; though I see not his dear little face And hear not his voice in this jubilant place, I know he were happy to bid me enshrine His memory deep in my heart with your play Ah me! But a love that is sweeter than mine Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day! And my heart it is lonely - so, little folk, come, March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!

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