 | My Lyrical Life |  |
VII.
O boy, the Apprentice-pen is sweet to touchAs that first clasp-knife we so proudly clutch;
Ere conscience wakes we live one glorious hour,
And cut and slash with cruel sense of power.
We wield the Scissors as 'twere Fate's own Shears:
Sheer folly! as we learn in later years.
| My Lyrical Life | |