To see again our hovel thatched with straw:
See birds that know our avenaceous store
Stoop to our hand, and thence repleted soar:
But, of all hopes the wanderer's soul that share,
His pristine peace of mind 's his final prayer.
VI.
As Walt Whitman might have Written all around it:
1.
You over there, young man with the guide-book, red-bound, covered flexibly with red linen,