I weary of the heat of hell,
The perfumed palace of thy love;
I need the cliff, the bubbling well,
The wind-swept grass, the blue above.

I weary of the panting dawn
That finds mine arms encircling thee;
I seek the silent mountain lawn,
The waking murmur of the sea.

I weary of the tangled hair,
The kiss, the passionate clasp, the sigh;
I pass into the keen sweet air,
The vague immensity of sky.