I Prefer The Gorgeous Freedom |
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I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear meadows
All is good, as dreams, and blest.
Here they rice: the clover clear,
And corn-flower's gentle lace,
And the rustle is always here:
"Ears are leaning... Take your ways!"
In this immense sea of fair,
Only one of blades reclines.
You don't see in misty air,
I'd seen it!It will be mine!
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Up in th' mountain
I was a-sitting,
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I came too late to the hills: they were swept bare
Winters before I was born of song and story,
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No crooked leg, no bleared eye,
No part deformed out of kind,
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Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
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LOVE we the warmth and light of tropic lands,
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