And Youth in leash craves Manhood’s sway:
Placid the waters that wash the sands,
The sky is blue o’er distant lands.
Yet phantom castles—springtime dreams,
Dissolve like foam on woodland streams,
As Fancy—chastened by breath of Time,
Reasons in prose and not in rhyme:
Yearning ceases—behold at home
The glories pictured by they who roam.
Rimmed with vesture of verdant green,