The Traveller-heart

(To a Man who maintained that the Mausoleum is the Stateliest Possible Manner of Interment)          I would be one with the dark, dark earth: -          Follow the plough with a yokel tread.          I would be part of the Indian corn,          Walking the rows with the plumes o'erhead.          I would be one with the lavish earth,          Eating the bee-stung apples red:          Walking where lambs walk on the hills;          By oak-grove paths to the pools be led.          I would be one with the dark-bright night          When sparkling skies and the lightning wed -          Walking on with the vicious wind          By roads whence even the dogs have fled.          I would be one with the sacred earth          On to the end, till I sleep with the dead.          Terror shall put no spears through me.          Peace shall jewel my shroud instead.          I shall be one with all pit-black things          Finding their lowering threat unsaid:          Stars for my pillow there in the gloom, -          Oak-roots arching about my head!          Stars, like daisies, shall rise through the earth,          Acorns fall round my breast that bled.          Children shall weave there a flowery chain,          Squirrels on acorn-hearts be fed: -          Fruit of the traveller-heart of me,          Fruit of my harvest-songs long sped:          Sweet with the life of my sunburned days          When the sheaves were ripe, and the apples red.