Classic Poem

He thought to himself:
“I will go back to the house where I was born,
Where all is simple and secure:
And I will be a good son, and help my father at his hunting.”

Yet he tried again to think of the wood-cutter's daughter:
But he gave this up in horror,
For whenever her image floated into his mind
It took the visage of his Mother,
And he shuddered at the passion that he felt:
Shuddered, and put it from him.

So, distraught, he found the trail,
And he thought he saw his Mother in front of him,
Beckoning him home …

He followed, slowly …