VIII.
O Dear Brown Lands
O dear brown lands, out of you I blossomed.
I feed on your rooted and wandering fruits;
And when my puzzled restlessness is done,
You clasp me again,
Scattering me over your brown bosom. . . .
My mother, my sustainer, my children,
And my dusty immortality.
I feed on your rooted and wandering fruits;
And when my puzzled restlessness is done,
You clasp me again,
Scattering me over your brown bosom. . . .
My mother, my sustainer, my children,
And my dusty immortality.
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