To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside

Passing for ever he fares and on either hand

Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide

Nestle in orchard bloom and far on the level land

Call him with lighted lamp in the eventide

Thick as stars at night when the moon is down

Pleasures assail him He to his nobler fate

Fares and but waves a hand as he passes on

Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate

Sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone

R L Stevenson