Classic Poem

( FOR A CHILD )

Midnight or morning, eve or noon,
Torn March or clover-scented June,—
 Whene'er you stand before this gate,
'T will open—if but not too soon
 You knock, if only not too late.

Well shall it be if, boyhood gone,
A boy's delight you still may own
 To play the dawn-new game of life,—
If what is dreamed and what is known
 In your still-startled heart have strife.

Ere you have banished Mystery,
Or throned Distrust, or less shall be
 Stirred by the deep and fervent line
Which is the poet's sign and fee:
 Be this your joy that now is mine.

When comes the hour, be full and bright
Your lamp, as the wiser virgins' light!
 Choose some familiar, shrine-like nook,
And offer up in prayer the night
 Upon the altar of this book.

Always new earth, new heavens lie
The apocalyptic spirit nigh:
 If such be yours, oh, while you can,
Bid unregretted Youth good-bye,
 For morning shall proclaim you Man.