I grow aweary of my kind-
Its petty aims, its creeds
That cripple mind and soul, and blind
The heart to trust needs;
Aweary of its blatant noise,
Its paltry pomp and show;
Its ignorance of simpler joys
So happier far to know.
I would be comrade to the rills,
To robin, lark and wren-
All tenants of the vales and hills
Afar from haunts of men;
Know note of bough, and note of bird-
His seers-the world-old trees!
What tome, or script. Or spoken word
Teach wisdom like to these?
I would be under God’s own roof,
With Nature’s fashionings.
And watch the weave of warp and woof
Of all delicious things;
And get acquainted with His skies,
And the great stars therein;
His lesser Folk-the lesser Wise—
My nearer kith and kin.
For they are true; they break no laws-
Clean as in Eden-bowers-
Our kindred named as dumb, because
Their language is not ours;
The humbler kind of fur and fin
And feather, clothed as we
(With all the art that man can win)
May never hope to be.
What quit welcoming! Their ways
Of human fear untaught,
So grateful, with the love and grace
By man almost forgot. . . .
I would go down to the deep woods
And its still depths within,
Find in its healing solitudes
Companionship with Kin.
