I am glad I met you on the edge br Of your barbarous childhood br br In what purity of pleasure br You danced alone like a peasant br For the stamping joy's own sake! br br How, set in their sandy sockets, br Your clear, truthful, transparent eyes br Shone out of the black frozen landscape br Of those gray-clothed schoolboys! br br How your shy hand offered br The total generosity br Of original unforewarned fearful trust, br In a world grown old in iron hatred! br br I am glad to set down br The first and ultimate you, br Your inescapable soul. Although br It fade like a fading smile br Or light falling from faces br Which some grimmer preoccupation replaces. br br This happens everywhere at every time: br Joy lacks the cause for joy, br Love the answering love, br And truth the objectless persistent loneliness, br As they grow older, br To become later what they were br In childhood earlier, br In a world of cheating compromise. br br Childhood, its own flower, br Flushes from the grasses with no reason br Except the sky of that season. br But the grown desires need objects br And taste of these corrupts the tongue br And the natural need is scattered br In satisfactions which satisfy br A debased need. br br Yet all prayers are on die side of br Giving strength to naturalness, br So I pray for nothing new, br I pray only, after such knowledge, br That you may have the strength to be you. br br And I shall remember br You who, being younger, br Will probably forget.