O redolent things most dear to Youth on earth, Friendship of other men; the hunter’s horn; The strong fatigue of practised limbs; the mirth Of little birds in coppices and corn; Work’s satisfaction; leisure’s bland delight; The grateful sinking into sleep at night;
Speed, with the winds of heaven at your heels, And grimy Power, and all you brilliant ones That leap and sparkle ’mid the din of wheels, A thousand little stars and little suns; And streets of cities threatening the sky; Cranes, wharves, and smoke in billows hanging high;
O stately Bridge, the country’s arching frame, A needle’s eye to thread the river through; Free ships, that rove and perish without fame; Rich days of idleness, and soul that grew Suddenly certain after doubting years, And won through joy the wisdom lost through tears;
O Downs of Sussex, flowing swift and clean Like stretchèd dogs along the English shore, With cleanliness of athletes, and the lean Brown flanks that course above the hare-belled floor; O winds, that jangle all those little bells, And tangle hair of nymphs in hidden dells;
O wandering Road, stranger and instant friend,-- For Youth a gipsy ever was at heart,-- Highway and packway, path with many a bend That keep your mystery a thing of art; O pools of friendly water; little lins; O sudden views of country; wayside inns;
Labour of harvest; cider sweet and good; Casual friends with tales of travel far; Beauty of women; sunlight through a wood; Companionable beasts; all things which are, Weep for him! weep for Youth that laughed so bright, Extravagantly fallen in the fight.
POOR soul! a captive in a prison-house Dreaming of pastures, is not more degraded Through rags and shackles and the insidious louse, And naked splendour of the body faded,
Than our uneasy spirit, dimly haunted By vision of some state, some wisdom whole; Prophetic down unhoped-for distance; taunted; Dissentient and disquiet guest, the soul.
WOULD I were done with flesh, or flesh with me, --Frailty from frailty seeking prop and stay!-- Would that from all such trammels I were free, Hindered no more by quagmires of the clay,
Then with an energy controlled and fierce Might I on greater secrets turn, and fight Through with unswathed and polished weapon; pierce Through to some wisdom, to some lake of light.