Young Guard

Excerpt

Last summer, centuries ago, I watched the postman’s lantern glow,

As night by night on leaden feet

He twinkled down our darkened street.

So welcome on his beaten track,

The bent man with the bulging sack!

But dread of every sleepless couch,

A whistling imp with leathern pouch!

And now I meet him in the way

And earth is Heaven, night is Day,

For oh! there shines before his lamp

An envelope without a stamp!