Why Do I Make So Much Of Aber Fall? Four Years Ago My Little Boy Was With Me Here, That's All, He Died Next Year: He Died Just Seven Years Old, A Very Gentle Child, Yet Bold, Having No Fear. You Have Seen Such? They Are Not Much? No . . . No. And Yet He Was A Very Righteous Child, Stood Up For What Was Right, Intolerant Of Wrong, Pure Azure Light Was Cisterned In His Eyes; We Thought Him Wise Beyond His Years, So Sweet And Mild, But Strong For Justice, Doing What He Could, Poor Little Soul, To Make All Children Good. I Almost Think, And Yet I Am To Blame, He Was A Different Child From Others; He Had Three Sisters And Two Brothers: He Seemed A Little King: Among The Children, Ah I 'Tis A Common Thing, Parents Are All The Same, You've Seen Those Kings, Yes, Yes, Of Course . . . And Yet . . . The Righteousness The . . . Never Mind! He Came With Me To Aber Fall, That's All, That's All.