O youth, vulnerable youth,
Let not thy self be of dominion,
But be the land as thy flesh,
And the waters be thy blood;
An armor of truth and serenity,
Passing forth seed to seed,
Reaching billows, soaring as trees.

O moss, saccharine moss,
In morning glow till night has fall.
The earth is man's account;
With nations each accenting,
and a poet is made to sing.
Saint eve is folly, faded and dim;
Man is rest but a smile and a dream.