John Burroughs | Poem Lake

To the Lapland Longspur

I.
oh, thou northland bobolink,
Looking over Summer’s brink
Up to Winter, worn and dim,
Peering down from mountain rim,
Something takes me in thy note,
Quivering wing, and bubbling throat;
Something moves me in thy ways—
Bird,...
Waiting

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
  Nor care for wind, or tide, or 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,...
Waiting

Serene, i fold my hands and wait,
  Nor care for wind, or tide, or 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,...