Methinks 'twould wait a little e'er it passes
To meet the old grey sea.

If youth could understand the tears and sorrow,
The sombre days that age and knowledge bring,
It would not be so eager for the morrow
Or spendthrift of the spring.

If love but learned how soon life treads its measure,
How short and swift its hours when all is told,
Each kiss and tender word 'twould count and treasure,
As misers count their gold.




THE PETITION

Sweet April! from out of the hidden place
Where you keep your green and gold,
We pray thee to bring us a gift of grace,
When the little leaves unfold.

Oh! make us glad with the things that are young;
Give our hearts the quickened thrills
That used to answer each robin that sung
In the days of daffodils.

For what is the worth of all that we gain,
If we lose the old delight,