Is perfect Nature’s every part,
Rooted in the mighty Heart,
But thou, poor child! unbound, unrhymed,
Whence camest thou, misplaced, mistimed,
Whence, O thou orphan and defrauded? 
Is thy land peeled, thy realm marauded? 
Who thee divorced, deceived and left? 
Thee of thy faith who hath bereft,
And torn the ensigns from thy brow,
And sunk the immortal eye so low? 
Thy cheek too white, thy form too slender,
Thy gait too slow, thy habits tender
For royal man;—­they thee confess
An exile from the wilderness,—­
The hills where health with health agrees,
And the wise soul expels disease. 
Hark! in thy ear I will tell the sign
By which thy hurt thou may’st divine. 
When thou shalt climb the mountain cliff,
Or see the wide shore from thy skiff,
To thee the horizon shall express
But emptiness on emptiness;
There lives no man of Nature’s worth
In the circle of the earth;
And to thine eye the vast skies fall,
Dire and satirical,
On clucking hens and prating fools,
On thieves, on drudges and on dolls. 
And thou shalt say to the Most High,
“Godhead! all this astronomy,
And fate and practice and invention,
Strong art and beautiful pretension,
This radiant pomp of sun and star,
Throes that were, and worlds that are,
Behold! were in vain and in vain;—­
It cannot be,—­I will look again. 
Surely now will the curtain rise,
And earth’s fit tenant me surprise;—­
But the curtain doth not rise,
And Nature has miscarried wholly
Into failure, into folly.”

’Alas! thine is the bankruptcy,
Blessed Nature so to see. 
Come, lay thee in my soothing shade,
And heal the hurts which sin has made. 
I see thee in the crowd alone;
I will be thy companion. 
Quit thy friends as the dead in doom,
And build to them a final tomb;
Let the starred shade that nightly falls
Still celebrate their funerals,
And the bell of beetle and of bee
Knell their melodious memory. 
Behind thee leave thy merchandise,
Thy churches and thy charities;
And leave thy peacock wit behind;
Enough for thee the primal mind
That flows in streams, that breathes in wind: 
Leave all thy pedant lore apart;
God hid the whole world in thy heart. 
Love shuns the sage, the child it crowns,
Gives all to them who all renounce. 
The rain comes when the wind calls;
The river knows the way to the sea;
Without a pilot it runs and falls,
Blessing all lands with its charity;
The sea tosses and foams to find
Its way up to the cloud and wind;
The shadow sits close to the flying ball;
The date fails not on the palm-tree tall;
And thou,—­go burn thy wormy pages,—­
Shalt outsee seers, and outwit sages. 
Oft didst thou thread the woods in vain
To find what bird had piped the strain:—­
Seek not, and the little eremite
Flies gayly forth and sings in sight.