A boy seems idle while at childish play, To men who make the "wheels of progress" turn. But hearts of men in sacred moments yearn For blocks and cans and strings, and messy clay; And creeks, and frogs, and smudgy stacks of hay. The childhood griefs and joys that live to burn Within the older man, sedate and stern, Are much the same as whims of boys today. A man may well lament his age if he Should grow composed and hard, forgetting all The sleds, and stilts, and marble games. To be A boy at heart is life! -- To tread the hall Of "progress" is the starkest tragedy, If men are prone to lose the boyhood call. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 4. NEW JERSEY by CLARENCE MAJOR HE GOADS HIMSELF by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE LIGHT'OOD FIRE by JOHN HENRY BONER A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: AZRAEL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE PAUPER'S DRIVE by THOMAS NOEL IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 28 by ALFRED TENNYSON |