Youth, ageless youth, the old gods' attribute!
--To inherit cheeks a--tingle with such blood
As wood nymphs blushed, who to the first--blown flute
Went out in endless dancing through the wood.
To live, and taste of that immortal food
After the wild day's waste prepared for us
By deathless hands, and straightway be renewed,
Like the god's entrails upon Caucasus.
To rise at dawn with eye and brain and sense
Clear as the pale green edge where dawn began,
While each bold thought full shapen should arise,
Cutting the horizon of experience,
Sharp as an obelisk.--Ah, wretched Man!
'Tis little wonder that the gods are wise.

More verses by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt