Wanderer

O Nature! everlastingly conceiving. Each one thou bearest for the joy of life, All of thy babes thou hast endowed Lovingly with a heritage--a Name. High on the cornice doth the swallow build, Of what an ornament she hides All unaware. The caterpillar round the golden bough Spins her a winter quarters for her young. Thus dost thou patch in ’twixt the august Fragments of bygone time For needs of thine--for thy own needs A hut. O men-- Rejoicing over graves. Farewell, thou happy wife.