To mountains strange with golden snows,
To gardens green with many a rose,
To secrets past the sense of sense,
Skies virgin of experience,
Untrodden avenues of mind,
Things far from hurrying humankind.
Thus spins out life its splendid charm :—
Live, love, enjoy, yet do no harm.
No rose of thought may bear or breed
The poisonous thorn of word and deed.
Call ** homo sapiens ” him who thinks ;
Talkers and doers—missing links!
Such songs are twilight’s, when I stretch
My limbs, and wander down to fetch
My water from the cool cascade,
My wood from the enchanted glade,
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