The mother looked in love. “Now build,” said she,
“Your splendid golden castles where you stand;
But when the wave has beaten all to sand,
You must go home.” “Ah, not so soon,” said he.
And now the night has darkened out his glee,
And sad-eyed Grief has grasped him by the hand.
No more the years shall find him free and wild
And madly merry as a bright brave bird:
For earth has nothing like the home he craves
And pauseless Time is beating bitter waves