Sonnet IV. Out, palsied soul, that dost but tremble ever

Out, palsied soul, that dost but tremble ever
In sight of the bright sunshine;--mine be joy,
And the full heart, and eye that faileth never
In the glad morning:--I am yet a boy;--
I have not wandered from the crystal river
That flowed by me in childhood: my employ
Hath been to take the gift and praise the Giver;
To love the flowers thy heedless steps destroy.
I wonder if the bliss that flows to me
In youth, shall be exhaled and scorched up dry
By the noonday glare of life; I must not lie
For ever in the shade of childhood's tree;
But I must venture forth and make advance
Along the toilèd path of human circumstance.