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IF tired of
trees I seek again mankind,
Well I know where to hie
me--in the dawn,
To a slope where the cattle keep the
lawn.
There amid lolling juniper reclined,
Myself
unseen, I see in white defined
Far off the homes of
men, and farther still,
The graves of men on an
opposing hill,
Living or dead, whichever are to mind.
And if by moon I have too much of these,
I have but
to turn on my arm, and lo,
The sun-burned hillside
sets my face aglow,
My breathing shakes the bluet
like a breeze,
I smell the earth, I smell the bruisèd
plant,
I look into the crater of the ant.
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