To a Child dancing in the wind
Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water’s roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool’s triumph, nor yet
Love las as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What heed have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?
II
Had no one said those daring
Kind eyes should be more learn’d?
Or warned you how despairing
The moths are when they are burned,
I could have warned you, but you are young,
So we speak a different tongue.
O you will take whatever’s offered
And dream that all the world’s a friend,
Suffer as your mother suffered,
Be as broken in the end.
But I am old and you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue.
I doubt that I have enough hair for it to tumble anywhere, and I’m nowhere near the ocean, but I connect with this image. It makes me sad that I’ve begun to speak the barbarous language of a “grown-up.” I talk about jobs, paying bills, and being responsible. The oil in my car needs to be changed, and I must consolidate my school loans.
And while I do love growing up, making good decisions, and being a good son, brother, and friend, a part of me hopes for the simple wonder and freedom that we all had as kids. I dream of having those daring, kind eyes all over again. To be ready to be a friend to anyone, and open myself to honest experience all over again.
