For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.
Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
To be young was very heaven!
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