You’ve made me calm with sober words of sense;
You’ve made me see maturity can grow;
You bade me live that I deep love can give,
And not be jealous of imaginary foe.
I, so bent on raising youth in you—
Successful, too, in stirred, forgotten fire—
Yet weak felt in attention paid to you,
And fell some from a level that was higher.
My dear, sweet teacher of maturer heart,
I bow to you with admiration strong,
And may from me my adulthood ne’er part,
But soar again in true, uplifting song.
Without intoxication love can mend
To wing in wonder still, and never end.