The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet
    And clasps the summer with a new delight,
Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
    When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.

The tree outgrows the bud's suggestive grace
    And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
But even this to deeper joy gives place
    When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.

Life's rarest moments are derived from change,
    The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
And suns itself in feelings new and strange.
    The most enduring pleasure is but brief.

Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same.
    Nothing contents us long, however dear.
The spirit in us, like the grosser frame,
    Outgrows the garments which it wore last year.

Change is the watchword of Progression. When
    We tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new.
This restless craving in the souls of men
    Spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view.

So let who will erect an altar shrine
    To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise;
Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine,
    Who lends new zest, and interest to my days.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.

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