 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
IX
Might one be healed from fevering thought,And only look, each night,
On some plain work well wrought,
Or if a man as right and true might be
As a flower or tree!
I would give up all the mind
303
House with its scrap-art bedight,
Straitened manners of the street,
Smooth-voiced society—
If so the swiftness of the wind
Might pass into my feet;
If so the sweetness of the wheat
Into my soul might pass,
And the clear courage of the grass;
If the lark caroled in my song;
If one tithe of the faithfulness
Of the bird-mother with her brood
Into my selfish heart might press,
And make me also instinct-good.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |