XIII

Sweet are the days we wander with no hope

Along life's labyrinthine trodden way,

With no impatience at the steep's delay,

Nor sorrow at the swift-descended slope.

Why this inane curiosity to grope

In the dim dust for gems’ unmeaning ray?

Why this proud piety, that dares to pray

For a world wider than the heaven's cope?

Farewell, my burden! No more will I bear

The foolish load of my fond faith's despair,

But trip the idle race with careless feet.

The crown of olive let another wear;

It is my crown to mock the runner's heat

With gentle wonder and with laughter sweet.