The Loiterer

When Youth, led on by love and folly, strays, Kissing sweet eyes beyond the allotted hour That he should turn to labour and forget Beyond his window beauty breaks to flower, O greybeard, pause before thy anger strikes Those joyful moments from his happy face. They make a glory of his sullen task And turn his workshop to a godly place. Thou couldst not scold if by thy window wide A mating thrush his love-song softly sung, And the green horn of Spring blew Summer airs That once thou chorused well when thou wert young. Then, greybeard, chase the frown from off thy brow, Since Time, alas! will soon belabour him; And think what would become of joyous Spring Were hoary Winter to be always grim.