Youth.
When I am old, these hills that bound
My life within their narrow round,
Will be the threshold of the door
That leads to Freedom and to Fame,
And the wide world beyond no more
An idle dream, an empty name;
But I, from cares and troubles free,
Its glories and its joys shall see.
The summer isles of southern seas;
Great battles, glorious victories;
The boundless prairies of the West,
Where red men hunt the buffalo;
Whatever fairest gifts and best
The gods have given to men below—
These, heart of mine, these shall we see
In the brave days that are to be.