"I see a little child whose eager hands Search the thick stream that drains the crowded street For possible things hid in its current slow. Near by, behind him, a great palace stands, Where kings might welcome nobles to their feet. Soft sounds, sweet scents, fair sights there only go-- There the child's father lives, but the child does not know. On, eager, hungry, busy-seeking child, Rise up, turn round, run in, run up the stair. Far in a chamber from rude noise exiled, Thy father sits, pondering how thou dost fare. The mighty man will clasp thee to his breast: Will kiss thee, stroke the tangles of thy hair, And lap thee warm in fold on fold of lovely rest." "We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." | 
