The poem
When I go on my morning walk, Because I'm mild, If I be in the mood to talk I choose a child. I'd rather prattle with a lass Of tender age Than converse in the high-brow class With college sage.
I love the touch of silken hand That softly clings; In old of age I understand Life's little things. I love the lisp of tiny tongue And trusting eyes; These are the joys that keep me young As daylight dies.
For as to second childhood I Draw gently near, With happy heart I see the why Children are dear. So wise Professor, go your way,-- I am beguiled To wistful loving by the gay Laugh of a child.