To My Mother Earth

0 Earth, Earth, Earth,         I am dying for love of thee,     For thou hast given me birth,         And thy hands have tended me.     I would fall asleep on thy breast         When its swelling folds are bare,     When the thrush dreams of its nest         And the life of its joy in the air;     When thy life is a vanished ghost,         And the glory hath left thy waves,     When thine eye is blind with frost,         And the fog sits on the graves;     When the blasts are shivering about,         And the rain thy branches beats,     When the damps of death are out,         And the mourners are in the streets.     Oh my sleep should be deep         In the arms of thy swiftening motion,     And my dirge the mystic sweep         Of the winds that nurse the ocean.     And my eye would slowly ope         With the voice that awakens thee,     And runs like a glance of hope         Up through the quickening tree;     When the roots of the lonely fir         Are dipt in thy veining heat,     And thy countless atoms stir         With the gather of mossy feet;     When the sun's great censer swings         In the hands that always be,     And the mists from thy watery rings         Go up like dust from the sea;     When the midnight airs are assembling         With a gush in thy whispering halls,     And the leafy air is trembling         Like a stream before it falls.     Thy shadowy hand hath found me         On the drifts of the Godhead's will,     And thy dust hath risen around me         With a life that guards me still.     O Earth! I have caught from thine         The pulse of a mystic chase;     O Earth! I have drunk like wine         The life of thy swiftening race.     Wilt miss me, mother sweet,         A life in thy milky veins?     Wilt miss the sound of my feet         In the tramp that shakes thy plains     When the jaws of darkness rend,         And the vapours fold away,     And the sounds of life ascend         Like dust in the blinding day?     I would know thy silver strain         In the shouts of the starry crowd     When the souls of thy changing men         Rise up like an incense cloud.     I would know thy brightening lobes         And the lap of thy watery bars     Though space were choked with globes         And the night were blind with stars!     From the folds of my unknown place,         When my soul is glad and free,     I will slide by my God's sweet grace         And hang like a cloud on thee.     When the pale moon sits at night         By the brink of her shining well,     Laving the rings of her widening light         On the slopes of the weltering swell,     I will fall like a wind from the west         On the locks of thy prancing streams,     And sow the fields of thy rest      With handfuls of sweet young dreams.     When the sound of thy children's cry         Hath stricken thy gladness dumb,     I will kindle thine upward eye         With a laugh from the years that come.     Far above where the loud wind raves,         On a wing as still as snow     I will watch the grind of the curly waves         As they bite the coasts below;     When the shining ranks of the frost         Draw down on the glistening wold     In the mail of a fairy host,         And the earth is mossed with cold,     Till the plates that shine about         Close up with a filmy din,     Till the air is frozen out,         And the stars are frozen in.     I will often stoop to range         On the fields where my youth was spent,     And my feet shall smite the cliffs of change         With the rush of a steep descent;     And my glowing soul shall burn         With a love that knows no pall,     And my eye of worship turn         Upon him that fashioned all--     When the sounding waves of strife         Have died on the Godhead's sea,     And thy life is a purer life         That nurses a life in me.