I have known men, and been friends with some,
And some there have been strong friends to me;
But at times and seasons one tires of all—
Grieving to tire—for the new dreams call,
And new thoughts part us more than a sea:
When you turn for solace, their lips are dumb.

And I have known women, and loved a few,
And a few have been fond and have loved me well;
But there always was something unexpressed
That none of them knew, or glimpsed, or guessed:
There is always something you cannot tell
However closely they strain to you.

So when weary of errors and misconceptions
I go where the Bush fronts grand to the sky;
And my small, weak life is merged in the Whole,
And the soul of me’s lost in the general Soul,
And bland airs blow from this hot, tired I
All its worries, and griefs, and pigmy deceptions.

And I lie at rest in the sparse short grasses,
With Space poured round me and Time annulled,
And watch through the flickering trees’ embrasures
Dim greys glide into infinite azures:
In Silence’s lap I’m cradled and lulled,
And vagrom Sound croons peace as she passes.

And the Bush bends closer and holds my hands;
And her noons or her nights yearn low to listen
When I tell her all in her inmost shrine;
And receive absolution for follies o’ mine;
Her mouth may smile, but her grave eyes glisten—
She is my Lover, and understands.

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