From Dawn To Noon

As the child knows not if his mother's face Be fair; nor of his elders yet can deem What each most is; but as of hill or stream At dawn, all glimmering life surrounds his place: Who yet, tow'rd noon of his half-weary race, Pausing awhile beneath the high sun-beam And gazing steadily back,--as through a dream, In things long past new features now can trace:--

Even so the thought that is at length fullgrown Turns back to note the sun-smit paths, all grey And marvellous once, where first it walked alone; And haply doubts, amid the unblenching day, Which most or least impelled its onward way,-- Those unknown things or these things overknown.