Then—with all the ardor of my being—
Forth I rushed from Time’s slow apathy,
Like a pilgrim home from travel, fleeing
To the arms of rapt Eternity.
“Blessed be childhood’s golden dreams, their power
Hid from me Life’s dismal poverty:
All the heart’s rich germs ye brought to flower;
Things I could not reach, ye gave to me![[794]]
In thy beauty and thy light, O Nature,
Free from care and from compulsion free,