by: John Burroughs (1837-1921)
I fold my hands and wait,
- Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
- I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
- For, lo! my own shall come to me.
- I stay my haste, I make delays,
- For what avails this eager pace?
- I stand amid the eternal ways,
- And what is mine shall know my face.
- Asleep, awake, by night or day,
- The friends I seek are seeking me;
- No wind can drive my bark astray,
- Nor change the tide of destiny.
- What matter if I stand alone?
- I wait with joy the coming years;
- My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
- And garner up its fruit of tears.
- The waters know their own and draw
- The brook that springs in yonder height;
- So flows the good with equal law
- Unto the soul of pure delight.
- The stars come nightly to the sky;
- The tidal wave unto the sea;
- Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
- Can keep my own away from me.
POEMS BY JOHN BURROUGHS
"Waiting" is reprinted
from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed.
Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.