I Will Be A Man

A Boy's Will Is The Wind's Will.

The Morrow Was A Bright September Morn; The Earth Was Beautiful As If Newborn; There Was Nameless Splendor Everywhere, That Wild Exhilaration In The Air, Which Makes The Passers In The City Street Congratulate Each Other As They Meet.

We Waste Our Best Years In Distilling The Sweetest Flowers Of Life Into Potions Which, After All, Do Not Immortalize, But Only Intoxicate.

Most People Would Succeed In Small Things If They Were Not Troubled With Great Ambitions.

Then Stars Arise, And The Night Is Holy.