As the distant wolves howl in the dark,
My buttered heart sings with the lark;
As the rocky hearts hail in the ghosts,
This plain tongue invites all the hosts.

There the realm of wild rocks in blood,
Here the river of the good flows in flood;
If this river runs across that realm,
Will here be virtue and joy over-whelm?

All this globe’s a shelter of fears,
Very few lives dwell without tears;
Dreams may come and dreams may go
But this stream of peace may pass slow.

The garbage laughs out, if I choose to go out
There files too frighten, there’s no doubt;
Must I be a wolf among the wolves at last
Or I be a rock and quit all the past.