The caribou do not need a reason to go where they are going,neither does the river.But when I go to see the caribou,when I go to walk with the river,Others ask me why.
It sounded as if the Streets were runningAnd then -- the Streets stood still --Eclipse -- was all we could see at the WindowAnd Awe -- was all we could feel.By and by -- the boldest stole out of his CovertTo see if Time was there --Nature was in an Opal Apron,Mixing fresher Air.
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,And grasshoppers in merry moods still wearThe short night weary with their fretting song.Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bankThe yellowhammer flutters in short fearsFrom off its nest hid in the grasses rank,And drops again when no more noise it hears.Thus nature's human link and endless thrall,Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.