III
THE loving earth that roots the trees
So closely to her inmost heart,
Has rooted us as well as these,
Not long from her we live apart;
We draw upon a lengthening string,
For months perhaps, perhaps for years,
And plume ourselves that we are free,
And then—we hear a robin sing
Where starving grass shows stunted spears,
Or haycart moving fragrantly
Where creaking tavern sign-boards swing;
Then closer, tighter draws the chain,
The man, too old and worn for tears,
Goes back to be a child again.