FROM DAWN TO NOON

As the child knows not if his mother's face

Be fair; nor of his elders yet can deem

What each most is; but as of hill or stream

At dawn, all glimmering life surrounds his place:

Who yet, tow'rd noon of his half-weary race,

Pausing awhile beneath the high sun-beam

And gazing steadily back,— as through a dream,

In things long past new features now can trace:—

Even so the thought that is at length fullgrown

Turns back to note the sun-smit paths, all grey

And marvellous once, where first it walked alone;

And haply doubts, amid the unblenching day,

Which most or least impelled its onward way,—

Those unknown things or these things overknown.