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Hesperia
WEEKLY JOURNAL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA
XIFje.
Youth now flies on feathered foot,
Faint and fainter now sounds the flute,
Rarer songs of gods; and still
Somewhere on the sunny hill,
Or along the winding stream,
Through the willows flits a dream:
Flits, but shows a smiling face,
Flees, but with so quaint a grace,
None can choose to stay at home,
All must follow, all must roam.
This is unborn beauty: she
Now in air floats highland free,
Takes the sun and breaks the blue:
Late with stooping pinion flew
Raking hedgerow trees, and wet
Her wing in silver streams, and set
Shining foot on temple roof:
Now again she flies aloof
Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't
By the evening's amethyst.
In wet wood and miry lane,
Still we pant and pound in vain:
Still with leaden foot we chase
Waning pinion, fainting face;
Still with grey hail we stumble on,
Till, behold, the vision gone!
Where hath fleeting beauty led?
To the doorway of the dead.
Life is over, life is gay:
We have come the primrose way.
-Robert
Louis Stevenson. W
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