Sonnot x+4: Swinging Through Trees

My youthful fire's tamed a bit,
Been packed in ice for transit.
I no longer move straight to conquer;
My will, for tempering, is the stronger,

But now I've straightened; I proceed with thought.
This is in some ways better, but not
Well suited to proceed with you.
Your mind's no mapped hallway to walk through,

But a maze of thoughts swinging through trees.
I have to look closely, down on my knees
To track them. My youthful instincts for the chase
are gone, so I can't match your wild haste.

If your heart's wilds are the prize,
I wish I weren't so civilized.