He may tell you what his name is,
Maybe ask you how you do,
Or begin some little story of his own.
He may merely sit and watch you
And store up the memory,
Then make up a tale about you when alone.
You will leave with the impression
That he’s just like any child
Rather shy and sometimes just little vain,
But his mind can work so deeply
And his feelings be upset
By the simplest act of hardness or disdain.