O hold no more the prize of wealth before me,
Nor hope of praise;
Nor talk of things men toil for, to deplore me
My dream-filled days!

Give me a fastness distant from the city,
The human sea
Which I would hate, were not I forced to pity,
Because akin to me.

There in the wilds with only you to love me
And none to hate,
I could feel Something good and strong above me,
More kind than Fate.

The Wind would take my hand and lead me kindly
Through the wild;
And teach me to believe in beauty blindly,
Like a child.

I could forget the aches of hope and failing,
That with slow fires consume
This futile flesh that goes on groping, wailing
Toward the gloom.

Far from the bitter grin of human faces
I could sing,
Robed in the vast and lonesome purple spaces