My life has been the poem I would have writ
My life has been the poem I would have writ
But I could not both live and utter it.
This poem is in the public domain.
O Nature! I do not aspire
To be the highest in thy quire,—
To be a meteor in the sky,
Or comet that may range on high;
Only a zephyr that may blow
Among the reeds by the river low;
Give me thy most privy place
Where to run my airy race.
Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
Which outward nature wears,
And in its fashion’s hourly change
It all things else repairs.
In vain I look for change abroad,
And can no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled
Illumes my inmost mind.
What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?
My love must be as free
As is the eagle’s wing,
Hovering o’er land and sea
And everything
I must not dim my eye
In thy saloon,
I must not leave my sky
And nightly moon