One gathered nuts, and the other had none;
“Time enough yet,” his constant refrain;
“Summer is still just on the wane.”
Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate:
He roused him at last, but he roused him too late;
Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,
And gave little squirrel a spotless white shroud.
Two little boys in a school-room were placed,
One always perfect, the other disgraced;
“Time though yet for my learning,” he said;