From: The Dial, Vol. I, No. II (Oct. 1840)
Author:
Published: Weeks Jordan and Company 1840 Boston
YES! they torment me What do torment me? Some cry all the time, Hail, thou mother Earth!
Most exceedingly:—
I would I could flee.
A breeze on a river—
I listen forever;
The yellowish heather
Under cool weather,—
These are pleasures to me.
Those living vacantly,
Who live but to see;
Indefinite action,
Nothing but motion,
Round stones a rolling,
No inward controlling;—
Yes! they torment me.
Even in their prime
Of youth’s flushing clime.
O! out on this sorrow!
Fear’st thou to-morrow?
Set thy legs going,
Be stamping be rowing,—
This of life is the lime.
Who gave me thy worth
For my portion at birth:
I walk in thy azure,
Unfond of erasure,
But they who torment me
So most exceedingly
Sit with feet on the hearth.
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