Richard Hovey

I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on read more

I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.

For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.

For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and
sold,
The wealth of read more

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and
sold,
The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
read more

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
All the mountain-prisoned rivers,
And thy great heart beats and quivers,
To revive the days that were.

I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall read more

I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great.