John Burroughs Poem, "Waiting"

Serene, I fold my hands and wait

Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;

I rave no more against time or fate,

For low! my own shall come to me.



I stay my haste, I make delays;

For what avails this eager pace?

I stand amid the eternal ways,

And what is mine shall know my face.



Asleep, awake, by day or night,

The friends I seek are seeking me;

No wind can drive my bark astray,

Nor change the tide of destiny.



What matter if I stand alone?

I wait with joy the coming years;

My heart shall reap where it has sown,

And garner up its fruit of tears.



The waters know their own, and draw

The brook that springs on yonder heights;

So flows the good with equal law

Unto the soul of sheer delights.



The stars come nightly to the sky,

The tidal wave comes to the sea;

Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high

Can keep my own away from me.