Iii

For now, behold their heart's desire is thrall To simpleness.--O new delight, unguessed, In very rest! And precious beyond all, A garden-place, a garden with a wall! To the green earth! All bountiful to bless Hearts sickening with excess. To the green earth, whose blithe replenishments Shall fresh the jaded sense! To the green earth, the dust-corrupted soul Returns to be made whole. For now it comes indeed, They will go forth, all they, to see a reed So shaken by the wind. Men are no longer blind To aught, save human kind.

(O mellowing August tree, Bear yet awhile with me.)