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358 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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'Mid lonely swamp, by haunted brake, I'll pass unfrighted for his sake.
"Alone, afar, his footsteps roam, The stars his roof, the tent his home. Saw'st thou what way the wild geese flew To sunward through the thick night dew ?
" Carry my soul where he abides, And pierce the mystery that hides His presence, and through time and space Look with mine eyes upon his face."
Beside his prairie fire he rests,
All feathered things are in their nests :
" What strange wild bird is this," he saith,
" Still fragrant with the ocean's breath?
"Perch on my hand, thou briny thing, And let me stroke thy shy wet wing; What message in thy soft eye thrills ? I see again my native hills,
" And vale, the river's silver streak, The mist upon the blue, blue peak, The shadows gray, the golden sheaves, The mossy walls, the russet eaves.
" I greet the friends I've loved and lost, Do all forget ? No, tempest-tost, That braved for me the ocean's foam, Some heart remembers me at home. |
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