Once, long ago, a friend gave me a book Of poems -- gems, the fruit of many minds; I read them, thoughtless of the toil they took -- The words moved softly as a stream that winds. But now I know the lines I glibly read Perhaps were born of pain -- a broken heart; Regret that followed with its stealthy tread -- The arrow of remorse with searching dart. For wisdom comes with time's stern tutelage; The years are keys, unlocking many a door; And sometimes as I read mist blurs the page, Here soul meets soul, a precious golden store. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by DAVID IGNATOW EPISTLE TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE (1) by HENRY FIELDING A FATHER OF WOMEN: AD SOROREM E. B. by ALICE MEYNELL GROWN-UP by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY SEA SLUMBER-SONG by RODEN BERKELEY WRIOTHESLEY NOEL TO A CONTEMPORARY BUNKSHOOTER by CARL SANDBURG TO LADY CHARLOTTYE GORDON; DRESSED IN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET by JAMES BEATTIE |