On a certain day of a certain spring,
In a certain garden, youthed I stood,
Filled of hope, with joy a-spurting.
Oh, this is spring! said I.
This is morning; this is summertime.
And wisdom laughed a dusty laugh,
And whispered: This is Folly!
On a certain noon at a certain moment
At a certain spot stood I,
Confidently singing. Oh, this is power I said.
Oh, this is understanding. This is assurance.
This is culmination of all
Those fleeting hopes I once thought mine.
And wisdom sighed, and the dust of her sighing
Choked my singing.
This is folly, whispered she.
(Patience Worth)
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