He never turns to injure me,
And when his voice is high
I crouch behind a rock and see
His storm of snows go by.
He too is subject of the sun,
As all things earthly are,
Where'er he flies, where'er I run,
We know our kingly star.
THE VOICE OF THE MAPLE TREE
I am worn with the dull-green spires of fir,
I am tired of endless talk of gold,
I long for the cricket's cheery whirr,
And the song that the maples sang of old.
O the beauty and learning and light
That lie in the leaves of the level lands!
They shake my heart in the deep of the night,
They call me and bless me with calm, cool hands.
Sing, O leaves of the maple tree,
I hear your voice by the savage sea,
Hear and hasten to home and thee!