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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Old Man's Counsel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Among our hills and valleys, I have known<br>Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent hands<br>Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth,<br>Were reverent learners in the solemn school<br>Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent<br>Seed-time and harvest, or the vernal shower<br>That darkened the brown tilth, or snow that beat<br>On the white winter hills. Each brought, in turn,<br>Some truth, some lesson on the life of man,<br>Or recognition of the Eternal mind<br>Who veils his glory with the elements.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One such I knew long since, a white-haired man,<br>Pithy of speech, and merry when he would;<br>A genial optimist, who daily drew<br>From what he saw his quaint moralities.<br>Kindly he held communion, though so old,<br>With me a dreaming boy, and taught me much<br>That books tell not, and I shall ne'er forget.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun of May was bright in middle heaven,<br>And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills<br>And emerald wheat-fields, in his yellow light.<br>Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds<br>Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom,<br>The robin warbled forth his full clear note<br>For hours, and wearied not. Within the woods,<br>Whose young and half transparent leaves scarce cast<br>A shade, gay circles of anemones<br>Danced on their stalks; the shadbush, white with flowers,<br>Brightened the glens; the new-leaved butternut<br>And quivering poplar to the roving breeze<br>Gave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields<br>I saw the pulses of the gentle wind<br>On the young grass. My heart was touched with joy<br>At so much beauty, flushing every hour<br>Into a fuller beauty; but my friend,<br>The thoughtful ancient, standing at my side,<br>Gazed on it mildly sad. I asked him why.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Well mayst thou join in gladness,' he replied,<br>'With the glad earth, her springing plants and flowers,<br>And this soft wind, the herald of the green<br>Luxuriant summer. Thou art young like them,<br>And well mayst thou rejoice. But while the flight<br>Of seasons fills and knits thy spreading frame,<br>It withers mine, and thins my hair, and dims<br>These eyes, whose fading light shall soon be quenched<br>In utter darkness. Hearest thou that bird?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I listened, and from midst the depth of woods<br>Heard the love-signal of the grouse, that wears<br>A sable ruff around his mottled neck;<br>Partridge they call him by our northern streams,<br>And pheasant by the Delaware. He beat<br>'Gainst his barred sides his speckled wings, and made<br>A sound like distant thunder; slow the strokes<br>At first, then fast and faster, till at length<br>They passed into a murmur and were still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There hast thou,' said my friend, 'a fitting type<br>Of human life. 'Tis an old truth, I know,<br>But images like these revive the power<br>Of long familiar truths. Slow pass our days<br>In childhood, and the hours of light are long<br>Betwixt the morn and eve; with swifter lapse<br>They glide in manhood, and in age they fly;<br>Till days and seasons flit before the mind<br>As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm,<br>Seen rather than distinguished. Ah! I seem<br>As if I sat within a helpless bark<br>By swiftly running waters hurried on<br>To shoot some mighty cliff. Along the banks<br>Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock,<br>Bare sands and pleasant homes, and flowery nooks,<br>And isles and whirlpools in the stream, appear<br>Each after each, but the devoted skiff<br>Darts by so swiftly that their images<br>Dwell not upon the mind, or only dwell<br>In dim confusion; faster yet I sweep<br>By other banks, and the great gulf is near.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Wisely, my son, while yet thy days are long,<br>And this fair change of seasons passes slow,<br>Gather and treasure up the good they yield--<br>All that they teach of virtue, of pure thoughts<br>And kind affections, reverence for thy God<br>And for thy brethren; so when thou shalt come<br>Into these barren years, thou mayst not bring<br>A mind unfurnished and a withered heart.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long since that white-haired ancient slept--but still,<br>When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough,<br>And the ruffed grouse is drumming far within<br>The woods, his venerable form again<br>Is at my side, his voice is in my ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538074" data-title="The Old Man's Counsel de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="Among our hills and valleys, I have known
Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent hands
Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth,
Were reverent learners in the solemn school
Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent
Seed-time and harvest, or..."></div>
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