Classic Poem

And can it be that I am twenty-one!
Well, I will not believe it, for I feel
As if I were a boy: I cannot deal
In things that stir the world, nor yet with man
Can I hold man-like converse: the whole plan,
Structure, and working of my mind reveal,
That, like a floating thing caught in a wiel ,
I've lagg'd behind while Time's stream onward ran
Swift Time! O I shall ne'er o'ertake thy speed!
Well, well, run on; thy reckonings I'll blot
From off my memory's page; my life-time's meed
I'll measure by the growing of my thought;
And ever when I do a goodly deed,
I'll mark that as an era in my lot.