i’m going out where breezes blowing round

make trim kept acres look half country and half town.

where march winds tossed and blew the leaves away

into the fences corner yesterday.

oaks that never dropt last summer’s leaves at all

were coaxed at last today to leave them fall.

i’m going out to this street’s very end,

where city atmosphere and country spaces blend,

and hear the whirring wings of lonely larks,

that circle like burnt embers o’er the park.

i’ll have my hair in torrents blowing wild

about my pallid features like some child,

that had its romping days of childish fun

most strangled e’er they ever had begun.

i’d like to walk around a field that’s barr’d

from other pleasant places winter scarr’d.

where drifts have filled the corners there i know

is still a faint suggestion of late snow.{61}

so when your luncheon hour and mine comes round,

i will have gone beyond the edge of town.