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20 To make the young world move; but he has eyes And ears, and he can read the sun. Therefore Think first of him as one who vegetates In tune with all the children who laugh best And longest through the sunshine, though far off Their laughter, and unheard; for 't is the child, O friend, that with his laugh redeems the man. Time steals the infant, but the child he leaves; And we, we fighters over of old wars— We men, we shearers of the Golden Fleece— Were brutes without him,—brutes to tear the scars Of one another's wounds and weep in them, And then cry out on God that he should flaunt For life such anguish and flesh-wretchedness. But let the brute go roaring his own way: We do not need him, and he loves us not. Let music be for us the forward song, And let us give the good world one more chance.

"I cannot think of anything to-day That I would rather do than be myself, Primevally alive, and have the sun Shine into me; for on a day like this, When the chaff-parts of a man's adversities Are blown by quick spring breezes out of him— When even a flicker of wind that wakes no more