A SONNET FOR THE EARTH
WHEN I am weary for delight and spent, Even as a bird that tries too long its wings Will nest awhile amid the grass and sings, So I drop downward from the wonderment Of timelessness and space, in which were blent The wind, the sunshine and the wanderings Of all the planets — to the little things That are my grass and flowers and am content.
Or if in flight my wings should beat so far From the kind grass that is so cool and deep That it must poise among the winds on high — Yet will I sing to thee from star to star, Piercing thy sunshine, and will always keep A song for thee amid the farthest sky.