By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams;
They took all else and left me there for dead;
They could not take my dreams.
Still, morning comes with marvel as of old;
Still in soft rose descends the eventide;
Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold,
The sweet, swift thoughts abide.
Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild!
To this last fortress of the soul I cling;
Men gave me winter weather from a child,