  Ah! what would youth be doing To hoist his crimson sails, To leave the wood-doves cooing, The song of nightingales; To leave this woodland quiet For murmuring winds at strife, For waves that foam and riot About the seas of life? From still bays, silver sanded, Wild currents hasten down To rocks where ships are stranded And eddies where men drown. Far out, by hills surrounded, Is the golden haven gate, And all beyond unbounded Are shoreless seas of fate. They steer for those far highlands Across the summer tide Upon the further side. They only see the sunlight, The flashing of gold bars; But the other side is moonlight And glimmer of pale stars. They will not heed the warning Blown back on every wind, For hope is born with morning, The secret is behind. Whirled through in wild confusion, They pass the narrow strait, To the sea of disillusion That lies beyond the gate. |
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