The Voice of the Ancient Bard

by William Blake

　　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.