Ho, a day 
     
    

    
     Whereon we may up and away 
     
    

    
     To the year that is holding her cup of wild wine; 
     
    

    
     If we drink we shall be as the gods of the wold 
     
    

    
     In the blithe days of old 
     
    

    
     Elate with a laughter divine; 
     
    

    
     Yea, and then we shall know 
     
    

    
     The rare magic of solitude so 
     
    

    
     We shall nevermore wish its delight and its dreams to 
     
     forego, 
     
    

    
     And our blood will upstir and upleap 
     
    

    
     With a fellowship splendid, a gladness impassioned 
     
     and deep!