An empty fantasy, so long as sense
Doth only search in realms to spirit strange.
Strader:
Thou may’st well call a dreamer that friend’s soul
Which in the joy of youth its goal doth set
With such a noble strength and high desire;
But in mine aged heart thy words fall dead
Despite their summoned aid of thunderous storms.
I tore myself from cloistered quietude
To proud achievement in my search for truth.