Find this Story

Print, a form you can hold

Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle

Look for a summary or analysis of this Poem.

Enjoy this? Share it!

Progression
by [?]


To each progressive soul there comes a day
When all things that have pleased and satisfied
Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried.
No more the waters of youth’s fountains play;
Yet out of reach, tiptoeing as they may,
The more mature and higher pleasures hide.
Life, like a careless nurse, fails to provide
New toys for those the soul has cast away.

Upon a strange land’s border all alone,
Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate.
Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown;
Till clothed with strength befitting its estate,
It grasps at length those raptures that are known
To souls who learn to labour, and to wait.