Holidays.

FROM fall to spring the russet acorn,
Fruit beloved of maid and boy,
Lent itself beneath the forest
To be the children’s toy.

Pluck it now; in vain: thou canst not;
It has shot its rootlet down’rd:
Toy no longer, it has duties,
It is anchored in the ground.

Year by year the rose-lipped maiden,
Playfellow of young and old,
Was frolic sunshine, dear to all men,
More dear to one than mines of gold;

Where is now the lovely hoyden?
Disappeared in blessed wife,
Servant to a wooden cradle,
Living in a baby’s life.

Still thou playest;—short vacation
Fate grants each to stand aside;
Now must thou be man and artist;
‘T is the turning of the tide.