Classic Poem

Where thick the dandelions lie,
Like coins of gold among the grass,
I watch the children flitting by,
Plucking the blossoms as they pass;—

Their hands as full as they can hold,
Yet still on further conquest bent;
At every footstep clutching gold
Might make a miser's heart content!

And watching them, I muse and muse,
The while my thoughts outrun my theme;
Till Life and child's play interfuse,
And hold me, waking, in a dream:—

A dream whereof the burden reads
Like this: “God made my hand but small,
And earth is larger than my needs;
Why should I seek to grasp it all?”