LONG ago, on a bright spring day, <br />I passed a little child at play; <br />And as I passed, in childish glee <br />She called to me, “Come and play with me!” <br /> <br />But my eyes were fixed on a far-off height <br />I was fain to climb before the night; <br />So, half-impatient, I answered, “Nay! <br />I am too old, too old to play.” <br /> <br />Long, long after, in Autumn time— <br />My limbs were grown too old to climb— <br />I passed a child on a pleasant lea, <br />And I called to her, “Come and play with me!” <br /> <br />But her eyes were fixed on a fairy-book; <br />And scarce she lifted a wondering look, <br />As with childish scorn she answered, “Nay! <br />I am too old, too old to play!”<br /><br />Francis William Bourdillon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-and-young/
