Shall a man never rest In the space he has cleared By his hut in the forest? Shall the wild boar, Time, Running again, Ever root him out? Is gray hair nothing And work well done And wisdom stored? I should like a little while To muse without striving Before life's over. For no deed -- none -- Is as good as a thought, Save a kind one, maybe. And where is the gain Worth a moment of vision Or a wine worth peace? Go, wild swine, To the doors of the young; Drive @3them@1 up the mountain. I will drink this water in the valley. |