The Book of the Native

by Charles G.D. Roberts




Comrade of the whirling planets,
    Mother of the leaves and rain,
Make me joyous as thy birds are,
    Let me be thy child again.

Show me all the troops of heaven

    Tethered in a sphere of dew,—
All the dear familiar marvels
    Old, child-hearted singers knew.

Let me laugh with children’s laughter,
    Breathe with herb and blade and tree,

Learn again forgotten lessons
    Of thy grave simplicity.

Take me back to dream and vision
    From the prison-house of pain,
Back to fellowship with wonder—

    Mother, take me home again!