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Lesson, ALesson, A
Lesson, A
There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine,
That shrinks like many more from cold and rain,
And the first moment that the sun may shine,
Bright as the sun himself, `tis out again!
When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm,
Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest,
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm
In close self - shelter, like a thing at rest.
But lately, one rough day, this flower I past,
And recognized it, though and alter`d form,
Now standing forth an offering to the blast,
And buffeted at will by rain and storm.
I stopp`d and said, with inly - mutter`d voice,
`It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold;
This neither is its courage nor its choice,
But its necessity in being old.
`The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in its decay;
Stiff in its members, wither`d, changed of hue,` -
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray.
To be a prodigal`s favourite - then, worse truth,
A miser`s pensioner - behold our lot!
O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!
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