SONGS OF THE SOUL
From nature's given cup,
My hollow hands, I'll drink
At the streamlet's bounteous brink;
With finger forks I'll eat the meat
Of fresh plucked fruits from trees, my seat
All snug beneath the shady trees,
Enliv'n'd by birds and bumble bees,
Fanned by mothering air,-
From warmth and tear
I'll bathe my weary mind
In new-made joyous day:
Away dish-washing, cups and saucers, all away!
For just a day
I wish I were a run-away!
My hollow hands, I'll drink
At the streamlet's bounteous brink;
With finger forks I'll eat the meat
Of fresh plucked fruits from trees, my seat
All snug beneath the shady trees,
Enliv'n'd by birds and bumble bees,
Fanned by mothering air,-
From warmth and tear
I'll bathe my weary mind
In new-made joyous day:
Away dish-washing, cups and saucers, all away!
For just a day
I wish I were a run-away!
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