I cherished old, jejune advice;
I thought I groped for truth;
Those dead old languages I learned
When I was prodigal of youth!
Then in the sunlight stood a boy,
Outstretching either hand,
Palm upwards, cup-like, and between
The fingers trickled sand.
"Oh, why so grave" he cried to me,
"Laugh, stern lips, laugh at last!
Let wisdom come when wisdom may.
The sand is running fast."
I followed him into the sun,
And laughed as he desired,
And every day upon the grass
We play till we are tired.
A CREED
THAT I should live and look with open eyes
I count as half my claim to Paradise.
I have not crept beneath cathedral arches,
But bathed in streams beneath the silver larches;
And have not grovelled to the Sunday priest,
But found an unconfined and daily feast;
Was called ungodly, and to those who blamed
Laughed back defiance and was not ashamed.
Some hold their duty to be mournful; why?
I cannot love your weeping poets; I
Am sad in winter, but in summer gay,
And vary with each variable day.
And though the pious cavilled at my mirth,
At least I rendered thanks for God's fair earth,
Grateful that I, among the murmuring rest,
Was not an unappreciative guest.