A DEDICATION

Sometimes youth comes to age and asks a blessing, Or counsel, or a tale of old estate, Yet youth will still be curiously guessing The old man’s thought when death is at his gate; For all their courteous words they are not one, This youth and age, but civil strangers still, Age with the best of all his seasons done, Youth with his face towards the upland hill. Age looks for rest while youth runs far and wide, Age talks with death, which is youth’s very fear, Age knows so many comrades who have died, Youth burns that one companion is so dear. So, with good will, and in one house, may dwell These two, and talk, and all be yet to tell.