Youth Poem by Elizabeth Oakes Smith

Alas, the Spirit lingers, but its hand
No more the barque sustains. The daring youth
Has seized the helm, and deeper launches forth,
His eye amid illusions of ideal land—
Bright castles, built in air, fame, glory, worth,
Fabrics, that still receding, seem to stand;
He sports no more mid blossoms of green earth;
He hears no more the music of his birth;
The future lures him, pinnacles and towers,
And half he chides the lagging of the hours,
Unheeds their sunshine, blessedness and mirth;
For onward is his course, he asks not where,
Since fancy paints the prospect passing fair.