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.