He is too young yet to know life's demands; <br />Being no natural philosopher, <br />He must from cause and custom draw that art <br />Which some of Nature have, the primal gift <br />Of all her treasury — the open thought <br />That climates in all circumstances, and breathes <br />A native ease in everything; fear-proof, <br />Even as a wild bird's weather-proof, being born <br />And bred light as the leaves he habits in; <br />Unlike his brother housed and finely reared <br />With magisterial care, whom every change <br />Affects like a distemper, as if he <br />Had lost his nature's ancient art, and grew <br />Like an exotic with a borrowed life.<br /><br />Robert Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/youth-s-inexperience/
