By Victor Starbuck
I Think that sometime, when the year is young,
And April steals along the leaf-hung ways,
I shall shut down the windows and put by 
The pleadings and reports, lock fast the doors,
And quit my desk, with its long-piled-up heaps
Of legal rubbish—not as one who leaves
His dwelling in the morn, to come again
At candle-light, but rather like to one
Who takes his staff and goes a pilgrimage
(Not looking backward even in his thoughts)
Unto a holy city. The dreary streets
Shall call to me no longer. Night and noon,
Dew-fall and afterglow, shall be but steps
In my long wandering that leads to Peace. 
Once more I shall behold the bubbling brooks
Beneath their banks of fern, or where they run
By furrowed fields, and hear the quiet winds
Aloof from earth, that move the towering clouds
And whisper solemn secrets to the pines,
With a free heart, as one who is a part
And substance of the breathing world, and knows
Its deeper intimations. I shall feel
The spirit that informs the setting sun
And moves the tides, and makes all-beautiful
The objects of the sight; and I shall know
The dramas of the dust and thistle-seed,
And lyrics of the stars, and epic sweep
Of galleon-winged clouds.
Once more my hands
Shall guide the ploughshare through the yielding earth,
And I shall watch the gleaming coulter turn
The fragrant furrows. I shall swing the scythe
Among the blossomy grass, and see the dew,
Sun-smitten to a flame of rainbow-glints,
Fall, at each scythe-stroke, with the stricken grass
That whispers as it falls; and I shall smell
The spirit-lulling scent of sun-cured hay
Bedamped with evening rains. 
And when the dusk
Brings back the cricket's immemorial fife,
Then I shall stand beside the gathered ricks
And see the friendly evening star lean low
Above the furrows. So my life shall flow,
As doth the slow procession of the days,
With thoughts of standing and of garnered crops,
And sheep and goats and fig and scuppernong
And peas and melons. And the world may pass
With gibes and bickerings, and I shall not heed.

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