My sweet hearts, always move on tender feet
The world that ever endows knowledge fresh.
The peace you enjoy is the rarest feat,
Any hermit covets; thereby wanes his flesh.
Our mind is sunk in greed and wrath and pain;
We spend no time to see the morning dew,
The charming butterflies we care not,
We are quite insane:
The world is too much with us,* for a few
Morrows that in vain we hoard a lot.
Abide as some buds, sweet dreams forever
Let petals open not, nor moments pass.
Let these dancing rosy feet ever whisper
To these pebbles and the twinkling grass.
You close with wax your ears, never heed
The Sirens’ song on teenage, steel your will!
The most innocent love and unstained smile
That no grown-ups breed
Is printed in your souls. O time be still,
And let you dance and dance a long, long while!
(*‘The world is too much with us late and soon’-William Wordsworth)
[It is unnatural and selfish, wishing a child not to grow. But, what legacy do we have to inherit to a wise youth these days? Only tension and sorrows in the present chaotic world! But, for children everything is fresh.]
Further reading: http://www.wikinut.com/author~unmhoi/John-Kolyav/
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