I said in my heart, "I am sick of four walls and a ceiling.
I have no need of the sky.
I have business with the grass
I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling.
Lone and high,
And the slow clouds go by.
I will get me away to the waters that glass
The clouds as they pass
To the waters that lie
Like the heart of a maiden aware of a doom drawing nigh
And dumb for sorcery of impending joy
I will get me away to the woods.