Old longings nomadic leap,

Chafing at custom's chain; 

Again from its brumal sleep

Wakens the ferine strain.


Helots of houses no more,

Let us be out, be free;

Fragrance through the window and door

Wafts from the woods, the sea.


After the torpor of will,

Morbid the inner strife,

Welcome the animal thrill.

Lending a zest to life.


Banish the volumes revered,

Sever from centuries dead;

Ceilings the lamp flicker cheered

Barter for stars instead.


Temple thy dreams with the trees,

Nature thy god alone;

Worship the sun and the breeze,

Altars where none atone.


Voices of Solitude call,

Whisper of sedge and stream; 

Loosen the fetters that gall,

Back to the primal scheme.


Feel the great throbbing terrene

Pulse in thy body beat, 

Conscious again of the green

Verdure beneath the feet.


Callous to pain as the rose,

Breathe with instinct's delight; 

Live the existence that goes

Soulless into the night.


—John Myers O’Hara—