Shapes of Clay

  Cried Age to Youth:  “Abate your speed!—­
  The distance hither’s brief indeed.” 
  But Youth pressed on without delay—­
  The shout had reached but half the way.

DISCRETION.

          SHE: 

  I’m told that men have sometimes got
    Too confidential, and
  Have said to one another what
    They—­well, you understand. 
  I hope I don’t offend you, sweet,
  But are you sure that you’re discreet?

          HE: 

  ’Tis true, sometimes my friends in wine
    Their conquests do recall,
  But none can truly say that mine
    Are known to him at all. 
  I never, never talk you o’er—­
  In truth, I never get the floor.