Than in brave tales poets writ.
Of Earth, not of it, you move to and fro,
A mystery; wherever you may go,
Carrying a blessing! Your one main care
To learn what Heroes, like your Father, are;
What, Virtue;—revealed to them
Who prize it ere priced a gem.
Then, your eyes, a boy’s, that had closed at night
On a garden-land bathed in crimson light,
Open to find yourself of man’s estate,