English poem
The Good Earth
The smell of burning weeds Upon the twilight air; The piping of the frogs From meadows wet and bare;
A presence in the wood, And in my blood a stir; In all the ardent earth No failure or demur.
O spring wind, sweet with love And tender with desire, Pour into veins of mine Your pure, impassioned fire.
O waters running free With full, exultant song, Give me, for outworn dream, Life that is clean and strong.
O good Earth, warm with youth, My childhood heart renew. Make me elate, sincere, Simple and glad, as you.
O springing things of green, O waiting things of bloom, O winging things of air, Your lordship now resume.