They with the world would have you reconciled,
Outgrow the impulse of these fantasies,
These rebel storms ; and act in grown-up wise.
They know not; in your mother’s arms you
And yet your soul with timeless memories
Was sad ; and when old age shall claim you,
Your heart with young despair shall still be wild
And childish mirth shall still light up your eyes.
Because a banished spirit in you dwells,
That strayed from lands beyond the unfurrowed
And frets rejecting its captivity;
You hear the horns of the forbidden chase.
The happy ghosts that down the woodland race
And gallop through the trampled asphodels.