Here you will find thePoemParental Recollectionsof poet Charles Lamb
A child's a plaything for an hour; Its pretty tricks we try For that or for a longer space; Then tire, and lay it by. But I knew one that to itself All seasons could control; That would have mocked the sense of pain Out of a grievëd soul. Thou straggler into loving arms, Young climber up of knees, When I forget thy thousand ways, Then life and all shall cease.
