The Boy and the Age

“Take me by the hand and lead me,
     To the Beauty that shallbe,”
Said a Boy, and gave his rosy palm
     To the wrinkled Century.

Answered the chronic Sire,—
     “I joy in thy desire,
But thy limbs are soft and small,
And I must march unresting;
     I hear the Ages call!”

“I will step small and often,
     ‘Till I am high and strong,”
Said the little one, in tears.

“Come,” beckoned the vigorous Grey:
     The Boy leapt laughing along,—
And now a MAN goes striding away,
     In the van of the lagging years.