O foolish wisdom sought in books!
O aimless fret of household tasks!
O chains that bind the hand and mind—
A fuller life my spirit asks!
For there the grand hills, summer-crowned,
Slope greenly downward to the seas;
One hour of rest upon their breast
Were worth a year of days like these.
Their cool, soft green to ease the pain
Of eyes that ache o'er printed words;
This weary noise - the city's voice,
Lulled in the sound of bees and birds.
For Eden's life within me stirs,
And scorns the shackles that I wear;