POEMS

I

I NEVER see a map but I’m away
On all the errands that I long to do,
Up all the rivers that are painted blue,
And all the ranges that are painted gray,
And into those pale spaces where they say:
‘Unknown.’ Oh, what they never knew
I would be knowing — were it not for you
I would be off to-morrow with the day!
Then, since I am at anchor at your door,
Befriend the wistful stranger; make me free
Of all your little country and its store
Of unknown things and wonders — spread for me
The chart and let me venture, till I find
The secrets of your beauty and your mind.