“You are playing, man-child, playing, where the evil demons lurk.
Yet I would not have you falter, or count the awful cost,
Lest your heart grow old within you, and your zest for sport be lost.
“So toss the ball of empire, with its fatal coat of fire;
And dig for gilded nuggets, with the pangs of hot desire;
And blow your filmy bubbles in the bright face of the sun,
Tho’ you know they will tarnish, vanish, ere your playing day is done.
“Go, spin your humming-top of thought, or brood with sullen lip,
As you scrawl upon the canvas, or load the merchant ship;
Come, tell some old, old story, or rehearse some ancient creed,