ON A BIRTHDAY

AM I a man at last? I feared to think Not long ago, that I could ever be Older than twenty-one. Eternity Is not more vast if one lean o’er its brink Than are the cool sane draughts of years we drink After the brilliance and the ecstasy Of a decisive year. Majority We hail; past commoner birthdays we slink. We love all action that is glorious It matters little whether, in our aim We seem to fail or are victorious. But in the lesser things and lesser hours We must—how can we?—spend our treasured powers For duties that can never bring us fame.