Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude / And flew to the silence of sweet solitude.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.

I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down

He could not die when the trees were green, For he loved the time too well.

Wildness is my suiting scene.

I am the self-consumer of my woes.

I long for scenes where man has never trod; A place where woman never smil'd or wept; There to abide with my creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below--above the vaulted sky.