Of childhood’s foolishness and youth’s mistakes?
Or, born a child, to have experience
Come to you softly without chance of loss,
Recurring years each rolling to your hand
In blissful innocent unconsciousness?
O dreamers with a Heaven and a Hell
Standing at either end of your wild rush
Away from the large peace of knowing God,
Can you not see that all of it is good?
Good, with the postulate that this is life,—