Brave little boy at the window, staring into the night,
You do not know you are finding your soul in the star-strewn sky.
How can the others divine the goal of your spirit's flight—
Dreaming, pondering, planning what you shall be by and by?
Put away toys, little poet, for now you shall follow the gleam,
And learn that a boy must have daring if he would live his dream.

You in your teens, all uncertain which of the paths you should take,
Unto what land it will lead you, whether your feet may return;
You with your spur of ambition, you with your future to make:
Fear not the mountains to clamber, fear not your bridges to burn.
Cherish your beautiful longings: the dragons are not what they seem.
Remember that Youth must have daring if it would live its dream.

Lover, if she you desire is the pulse of your palpitant day,
And the sweetest three words of the language you hesitate to speak,
And you forget the name of the Lord for thinking of hers when you pray:
Humble though you be before her, it is Love that gives strength to the weak.
Call to her now, lest hereafter the tears of the angels shall stream;
Forget not that one must have daring if one would live his dream.

Graybeard, who know the longing of lover and youth and boy,
Who in the deepest waters have clung to the spar of hope,
Whose darkest shadows of sorrow have only eclipsed your joy:
You have kept your lovely dream unsoiled to the final slope:
As you stand, with no fear of the crossing, at the marge of the Unknown Stream,
You know 'twas because of your daring that you have lived your dream.