 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
GROWTH.
The living stream must flow, and flow,
And never rest, and never wait,
But from its bosom, soon or late
Cast the dead corpse. Time even so
And never rest, and never wait,
But from its bosom, soon or late
Cast the dead corpse. Time even so
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Runs on and on, and may not rest,
But from its bosom casts away
The cold dead forms of yesterday—
Once best, may not be always best.
But from its bosom casts away
The cold dead forms of yesterday—
Once best, may not be always best.
That which was but the dream of youth,
Begot of wildest fantasy,
To our old age, perhaps, may be
A good and great and gracious truth.
Begot of wildest fantasy,
To our old age, perhaps, may be
A good and great and gracious truth.
That which was true in time gone by,
As seen by narrow, ignorant sight,
May in the longer, clearer light
Of wiser times, become a lie.
As seen by narrow, ignorant sight,
May in the longer, clearer light
Of wiser times, become a lie.
I hold this true—who ever wins
Man's highest stature here below,
Must grow, and never cease to grow—
For when growth ceases, death begins.
Man's highest stature here below,
Must grow, and never cease to grow—
For when growth ceases, death begins.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |