To the Youngman--A Prediction

Oh! You’ll be caught up in despair, Tiring impurity, appalling aloneness. The mechanical world’s Swarming cities, smelling towns, urban’d country. The world of haste and hurry, Sootheless sit and restless recline. Then nights won’t contrast days. Yes, people will wake long nights, nevertheless Not in love! And or attend the starry skies or Full moon. And, albeit sun will new day newer rise Yet, always set unseen. So, on a summer’s sunny day Hunt pro that distant dale Still be hid from man’s mean eye, Where howbeit the grasses be green, thick and bathed of dew, The roving birds nest, The shepherds dwell. By the bank of the thunderous stream Stroll around, and later loll Against the old mossy giant rock. Cross-legged light a flowery-cigar, and gaze The fir-forests, the snow summits, the cloudy horizons. Listen, the sparrows tweeting on the wild willows, Dogs barking, rooster neighing— somewhere down the vale. How sweet be it beside a small fire And with a bowl of warm tea! Or oh sweeter be! If ‘companied by sweetie.