To My Infant Daughter (II) --------------- by Yvor Winters (1900-1968)

Alas,that i should be So old,and you so small You will think naught of me When your dire hours befall   Take few men to your heart! Unstable,fierce,unkind, The ways that men impart. True love is slow to find   True art is slow to grow. Like a belated friend, It comes to let one know Of what has had an end. wickedjester