Let thy young wanderer dream on: Call him not home. A door opens, a breath a voice From the ancient room, Speaks to him now. Be it dark or bright He … - George William Russell

And sun and moon and starry fires and earth and air and sea
Are creatures from the deep let loose who pause in ecstasy,
Or wing their wild and heavenly way until again they find The ancient deep and fade therein, enraptured, bright and blind.

By many a dream of God and man my thoughts in shining flocks were led:
But as I went through Patrick Street the hopes and prophecies were dead.
The hopes and prophecies were dead: they could not blossom where the feet
Walked amid rottenness, or where the brawling shouters stamped the street.

I have wept a million tears:
Pure and proud one, where are thine,
What the gain though all thy years
In unbroken beauty shine? All your beauty cannot win
Truth we learn in pain and sighs:
You can never enter in
To the circle of the wise.