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