Down the long road, bent and brown, <br />Youth, that dearly loves a vision, <br />Ventures to the gate Elysian, <br />As a pilgrim from the town. <br /> <br />Coming not so late, so far, <br />Rocks and birches! for your story; <br />Not to prate on vanished glory <br />Where of old was quenched a star; <br /> <br />Where of old, in lapse of toil, <br />Time but mocked a prayer pathetic; <br />Where the flower of good prophetic <br />Starved in our New England soil. <br /> <br />Ah! to Youth with radiant eyes, <br />For whom grief is not, nor daunting, <br />Lost glad voices still are chanting <br />‘Neath those unremaining skies, <br /> <br />Still the dreams of fellowship <br />Beat their wings of aspiration; <br />And a smile of soft elation <br />Trembles from its haughty lip <br /> <br />If another dare deride <br />Hopes heroic snapped and parted, <br />Disillusion so high-hearted <br />All success is mean beside.<br /><br />Louise Imogen Guiney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brook-farm/
