The Good Earth by Charles G. D. Roberts

The smell of burning weeds
Upon the twilight air;
The piping of the frogs
From meadows wet and bare;

A presence in the wood,
And in my blood a stir;
In all the ardent earth
No failure or demur.

O spring wind, sweet with love
And tender with desire,
Pour into veins of mine
Your pure, impassioned fire.

O waters running free
With full, exultant song,
Give me, for outworn dream,
Life that is clean and strong.

O good Earth, warm with youth,
My childhood heart renew.
Make me elate, sincere,
Simple and glad, as you.

O springing things of green,
O waiting things of bloom,
O winging things of air,
Your lordship now resume.

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