 | The complete poetical writings of J. G. Holland |  |
A GLIMPSE OF YOUTH.
Maiden, I thank thee for thy face,
Thy sweet, shy glance of conscious eyes:
For, from thy beauty and thy grace,
My life has won a glad surprise.
Thy sweet, shy glance of conscious eyes:
For, from thy beauty and thy grace,
My life has won a glad surprise.
I met thee on the crowded street—
A load of care on heart and brain—
And, for a moment, bright and fleet,
The vision made me young again.
A load of care on heart and brain—
And, for a moment, bright and fleet,
The vision made me young again.
And then I thought, as on I went,
And struggled through the thronging ways,
How every age's complement
The age that follows overlays.
And struggled through the thronging ways,
How every age's complement
The age that follows overlays.
The youth upon the child shuts down;
Young manhood closes over youth;
And ripe old age is but the crown
That keeps them both in changeless truth!
Young manhood closes over youth;
And ripe old age is but the crown
That keeps them both in changeless truth!
So, every little child I see,
With brow and spirit undefiled,
And simple faith and frolic glee,
Finds still in me another child.
With brow and spirit undefiled,
And simple faith and frolic glee,
Finds still in me another child.
465
Toward every brave and careless boy
Whose lusty shout or call I hear,
The boy within me springs with joy
And rings an echo to his cheer!
Whose lusty shout or call I hear,
The boy within me springs with joy
And rings an echo to his cheer!
What was it, when thy face I saw,
That moved my spirit like a breeze,
Responsive to the primal law
Of youth's entrancing harmonies?
That moved my spirit like a breeze,
Responsive to the primal law
Of youth's entrancing harmonies?
Ah! little maid—so sweet and shy—
Building each day thy fair romance—
Thou didst not dream a youth passed by,
When I returned thee glance for glance!
Building each day thy fair romance—
Thou didst not dream a youth passed by,
When I returned thee glance for glance!
For all my youth is still my own,—
Bound in the volume of my age,—
And breath from thee hath only blown
The leaves back to the golden page!
Bound in the volume of my age,—
And breath from thee hath only blown
The leaves back to the golden page!
| The complete poetical writings of J. G. Holland | |