For wider benches.

My soul has long been reconciled
To the prick of gunny-sack,
(O well-remembered woollen fleeces!)
And rustling vests of newspaper,
And the chill of rubbers on unshod feet,
But to the wasteful burning of dry leaves,
God's shepherd's mattress,
Never!

Descendant of ancient ones
Who tended flocks and watched the midnight sky,
My forebears saw the Eastern star appear
Over Judean hills.

Where do your flocks graze, gentlemen?
Are there no sheep or shepherds any more?
All day long I sought the flocks
And came by night to a wide, grassy place,
Where I could sit and watch the stars wheel by--
And in the morning some one brought me here.

La Felice

La Felice, by the forest pond
looks through leaves to the Western screen
of Chinese gold that lies beyond
black trees and boughs of golden-green.