Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from a man Who has been dead, and lives again. About the trees my arms I wound; Like one gone mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky.

I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

There is no shelter in you anywhere.

Beauty is whatever gives joy.