I grasp for thoughts that others bid me hold,
And eagerly attend my lessons well.
But though I strive, and in the end excel,
What have I learned except what I’ve been told?
And all the words of wisdom spun with gold
Avail me not, for though they weave their spell,
Their voices dim. In turn, I bid farewell
To youthful past and rapidly grow old!
Where stands youth from old men facing death?
I search my lessons vainly for such scope,
But if they therein lie, I would find none.
For what they seek is found in every breath,
And, barely tempered strong in life, I grope
To learn the lessons only just begun.