But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach, And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling, The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.

Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age. The child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.

What should I be but just what I am?

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.

That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.