FALLEN YOUTH

O redolent things most dear to Youth on earth,

Friendship of other men; the hunter’ s horn;

The strong fatigue of practised limbs; the mirth

Of little birds in coppices and corn;

Work’ s satisfaction; leisure’ s bland delight;

The grateful sinking into sleep at night;

Speed, with the winds of heaven at your heels,

And grimy Power, and all you brilliant ones

That leap and sparkle’ mid the din of wheels,

A thousand little stars and little suns;

And streets of cities threatening the sky;

Cranes, wharves, and smoke in billows hanging high;

O stately Bridge, the country’ s arching frame,

A needle’ s eye to thread the river through;

Free ships, that rove and perish without fame;

Rich days of idleness, and soul that grew

Suddenly certain after doubting years,

And won through joy the wisdom lost through tears;

O Downs of Sussex, flowing swift and clean

Like stretchèd dogs along the English shore,

With cleanliness of athletes, and the lean

Brown flanks that course above the hare-belled floor;

O winds, that jangle all those little bells,

And tangle hair of nymphs in hidden dells;

O wandering Road, stranger and instant friend,—

For Youth a gipsy ever was at heart,—

Highway and packway, path with many a bend

That keep your mystery a thing of art;

O pools of friendly water; little lins;

O sudden views of country; wayside inns;

Labour of harvest; cider sweet and good;

Casual friends with tales of travel far;

Beauty of women; sunlight through a wood;

Companionable beasts; all things which are,

Weep for him! weep for Youth that laughed so bright,

Extravagantly fallen in the fight.