The Call of the Wild

I’m tired of the gloom  



In a four-walled room;  



Heart-weary, I sigh  



For the open sky,  



And the solitude  



Of the greening wood;  



Where the bluebirds call,  



And the sunbeams fall,  



And the daisies lure 



The soul to be pure.  



 



I’m tired of the life 



In the ways of strife;  



Heart-weary, I long  



For the river’s song,  



And the murmur of rills  



In the breezy hills;  



Where the pipe of Pan— 



The hairy half-man— 



The bright silence breaks  



By the sleeping lakes.