“Ten thousand spears are like the summer grass…”
            --Williams Blake

The Voice of the Ancient Bard

Youth of delight come hither;
And see the opening morn,
Image of truth new born
Doubt is fled & clouds of reason
Dark disputes & artful teasing.
Folly is an endless maze,
Tangled roots perplex her ways,

How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel they know not what but care;
And wish to lead others when they should be led.

(1789)

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