When all my dreams are spent and smouldered down
Like some far ruined sunset at life’s ebb,
And hope deferred fades out in endless sleep?
O holy man forgive mine impious presence,
Thy blessed office naught availeth me.
Hermit. Nay son grieve not as one who hath no hope.
Though awsome be this youthful sin of thine,
Whose memory blurs thy loftier, holier dreams,
Let not this one sin lead thee to blaspheme