THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD Youth of delight! come hither And see the opening morn, Image of Truth new-born. Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, Dark disputes and artful teazing. 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. (Blake)
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