As the child knows not if his mother's face <br />Be fair; nor of his elders yet can deem <br />What each most is; but as of hill or stream <br />At dawn, all glimmering life surrounds his place: <br />Who yet, tow'rd noon of his half-weary race, <br />Pausing awhile beneath the high sun-beam <br />And gazing steadily back,—as through a dream, <br />In things long past new features now can trace:— <br />Even so the thought that is at length fullgrown <br />Turns back to note the sun-smit paths, all grey <br />And marvellous once, where first it walked alone; <br />And haply doubts, amid the unblenching day, <br />Which most or least impelled its onward way,— <br />Those unknown things or these things overknown.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxx-from-dawn-to-noon/
