LONG ago, on a bright spring day, 
I passed a little child at play; 
And as I passed, in childish glee 
She called to me, ?Come and play with me!? 
 
But my eyes were fixed on a far-off height 
I was fain to climb before the night; 
So, half-impatient, I answered, ?Nay! 
I am too old, too old to play.? 
 
Long, long after, in Autumn time? 
My limbs were grown too old to climb?
I passed a child on a pleasant lea, 
And I called to her, ?Come and play with me!? 
 
But her eyes were fixed on a fairy-book; 
And scarce she lifted a wondering look, 
As with childish scorn she answered, ?Nay! 
I am too old, too old to play!?