TO ANTIQUITY “... REVERENCE FOR OUR FATHERS, WITH THEIR STORES OF EXPERIENCES”
Reading edition
An author whose name I did not note
O our young ancestor,
Our boy in Letters, how we trudge oppressed
With our “experiences,” and you of yore
Flew light, and blessed!
Youngling, in your new town,
Tight, like a box of toys—the town that is
Our shattered, open ruin, with its crown
Of histories;
You with your morning words
Fresh from the night, your yet un-sonneted moon,
Your passion undismayed, cool as a bird’s
Ignorant tune;
47O youngling! how is this?
Your poems are not wearied yet, not dead.
Must I bow low? or, with an envious kiss,
Put you to bed?
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