In every age we start on journeys
To find out whom we think we are;
And longing for a life of tourneys,
We end by going just so far.
But after all these fruitless questings
In search of joy we come to restings
And when we’re full of war and peace
And have not found our Golden Fleece,
Or what has been our longed for idol,
We vow that we will no more roam
And settle in a model home.
And so are punished with a bridle:
We settle for a life of doubt
And give up what we used to shout.