I love the skyward-spiring tree
For its supreme unconsciousness of me.
So let us seek the lands that the Gods love,
The soil unsown, the isles of sumptuous store;
Where fallow fields yield yearly fee of grain,
And vines unpruned produce perennial bloom,
And olive slips engender faithfully,
And dark figs deck their trees; the cavernous oaks
Bleed honey’d drops, and from high hills descend