THE TRUANT
The wise years saw him go from them,
Untaught by them, yet wise;
He had but romped with the hoyden years,
Unwitting how time flies;
Whose laughter glooms to wistfulness
At swift, undreamt good-byes.
The wise, grave, patient mistresses
Of his young manhood’s school,
The wise, grave, patient years-to-be—