Avidity

In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age, I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck; Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek. Not that I midway could my courses amend, Nor make room for ruings and ebbing hopes; Or dreading harsher shores first wishes trim, To cry in sync with sad martyrs' effete tropes. Verily there’s a shadow where clear roads stood, And tripping blocks where defter legs easily trod; There slashing ogres their charging scrolls shout, To put to rout the wearied walker's untiring mode. Yes dispiriting detriment picked routes obscures, With every unthinkable wall and slowing mounds; Forcing fatigued legs into impromptuous detours, Which bite with blighting pain and chilling sounds. The labouring voyager shall move on in truth, To the dream-born Idylls of his unshorn youth.