Tellus

Why here, on this third planet from the Sun, Fret we and smite against our prison-bars? Why not in Saturn, Mercury, or Mars, Mourn we our sins, the things undone and done? Where was the soul’s bewildering course begun? In what sad land among the scattered stars Wrought she the ill which now forever scars By bitter consequence each victory won? I know not, dearest friend, yet this I see, That thou for holier fellowships wast meant. Through some strange blunder thou art here; and we Who on the convict ship were hither sent, By judgment just, must not be named with thee Whose tranquil presence shames our discontent.

Collection: 
English
William Reed Huntington

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