Life, 1927-12-01 · page 25 of 80
Life — December 1, 1927 — page 25: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is not political satire but nostalgic poetry for a Christmas issue. The piece uses the nursery rhyme "Little Boy Blue" as a framework to lament the loss of innocent childhood wonder and simpler times. The poem addresses an idealized past—a "golden day" of pastoral simplicity ("the meadow," "the corn," "home-hearth glow")—contrasting it with modern adult disillusionment. References to abandoned dreams, the pursuit of fame and crowns, and spiritual emptiness suggest post-WWI American melancholy. "Little Boy Blue" represents lost innocence, asked to summon readers back to authentic values through the "ancient flame" of home and hearth. The decorative winter border with snow-laden trees reinforces the Christmas theme of familial return and redemption through memory. This reflects 1920s-era romanticism about pre-industrial rural life rather than political commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Oci 8759730 he cAncient (all By Grantland ‘Rice sheep's in the meadow—the cow’s in the corn, The crowd's in the street, where dreams are few, So Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn And lead us back to a dream that’s true. Soft and low, like a far wind sighing, ound one note with the oldtime cheer, Most of our dreams are dead, or dying, So take us back to a vanished year. Little Boy Blue, you will never know Just how far we have wandered away From the little horn we used to blow In the golden faith of a golden day, Faint and dim like lost winds callin Soft and low as a mother’s prayer Now we stand where the dusk is falling, Groping for dreams that are never there. One by one we have searched for the crown Or followed the phantom wraith called fame, And one by one in the lonesome town We've turned our eyes to the ancient flame Of home-hearth glow, with reindeer leay Over the hills in their northland f Over ihe hills where dreams come cree} Back to the berries of scarlet and white. By farm and city we turn again Where shadows gather along the wall; Where wee feet patter across the den And voices come with a ghostly call The eerie roll of the toy drum lingers Over a world where the fir tree waits, Music blown from forgotten singers Who've long since passed through the morning gates. Little Boy Blue, are you hiding still Under the haystack—fast asleep? Sound one note with the oldtime thrill As dusk comes on where the dark is deep, One clear call from a vanished morning Of sleigh bells singing across the snow, Where holly hangs on the wall, adorning The hearth of home that we used to know. comicbooks.com