These things I cannot forget: far snow in the night,
The shadows of hills, and the leaping beauty of flame,
Wind-patterned leaves, and the patterns of birds in flight,
And the changing thunderous sea that is never the same.

Oh, high are the city walls, and the houses tall,
And only the sky remains of beautiful things,
And there never is time to search the sky at all,
Lest there pass above me the changing pattern of wings.

But youth, clear youth that breathes in my breath to-day,
Chants in my blood that ancient beauty is young,
And sees far snow in the lamp-lit snow of my way,
And shadows of hills where the long wall-shadows are flung.

And flaming fire is lit by the million lights,
And blown smoke gathers as birds, or as leaves wind-free,
And oh, if your eyes are closed in the clamorous nights,
The motion of men resounds like the thundering sea!