give me no gold nor palaces

nor quarts of gems in chalices

nor mention me in who is who

i’d rather roam abroad with you

investigating sky and land,

volcanoes, lakes, and glacial sand

i’d rather climb with all my legs

to find a nest of speckled eggs,

or watch the spotted spider spin

or see a serpent shed its skin!

give me no star-and-garter blue!

i’d rather roam around with you.

flatten me not with flattery!

walk with me to the battery,

and see in glassy tanks the seals,

the sturgeons, flounders, smelt and eels

disport themselves in ichthyic curves —

and when it gets upon our nerves

then, while our wabbling taxi honks

i’ll tell you all about the bronx,

where captive wild things mope and stare

through grills of steel that bar each lair

doomed to imprisonment for life —

and you may go and take your wife.

come to the park1 with me;

i’ll show you crass stupidity

which sentences the hawk and fox

to inactivity, and locks

the door of freedom on the lynx

where puma pines and eagle stinks.

never a slaver’s fetid hold

has held the misery untold

that crowds the great cats’ kennels where

their vacant eyes glare blank despair

half crazed by sloth, half dazed by fear

all day, all night, year after year.

to the swift, clean things that cleave the air

to the swift, clean things that cleave the sea

to the swift, clean things that brave and dare

forest and peak and prairie free,

a cage to craze and stifle and stun

and a fat man feeding a penny bun

and a she-one giggling, “ain’t it grand!”

as she drags a dirty-nosed brat by the hand.