Development

by Robert Browning

My Father was a scholar and knew Greek.
When I was five years old, I asked him once
"What do you read about?"
                        "The siege of Troy."
"What is a siege and what is Troy?"
                        Whereat
He piled up chairs and tables for a town,
Set me a-top for Priam, called our cat
--Helen, enticed away from home (he said)
By wicked Paris, who couched somewhere close
Under the footstool, being cowardly,
But whom--since she was worth the pains, poor puss--
Towzer and Tray,--our dogs, the Atreidai,--sought
By taking Troy to get possession of
--Always when great Achilles ceased to sulk,
(my pony in the stable)--forth would prance
And put to flight Hector--our page-boy's self.
This taught me who was who and what was what:
So far I rightly understood the case
At five years old: a huge delight it proved
And still proves--thanks to that instructor sage
My Father, who knew better than turn straight
Learning's full flare on weak-eyed ignorance,
Or, worse yet, leave weak eyes to grow sand blind,
Content with darkness and vacuity.