FAR-OFF the lily-statues stand
white-ranked in the
garden at home.
Would God they were shattered
quickly, the cattle
would tread them out in the
loam.
I wish the
elder trees in flower could suddenly heave,
and
burst
The walls of
the house, and nettles puff out from
the hearth at which I
was nursed.
It stands so still in the hush
composed of trees and
inviolate
peace,
The home of
my fathers, the place that is mine, my
fate and my old
increase.
And now
that the skies are falling, the world is
spouting in fountains of dirt,
I would give my soul for the
homestead to fall with
me, go with me, both in
one hurt.