The great world has not known me,
Nor I the world have known;
The great world will not own me
Altho' I am her own.

I walk with her a stranger
Who am of her a child-
A vagrant, and a ranger
Of ways forlorn and wild.

Clear unto other vision,
Blind ever unto me,
My soul is a prison
Whereof none holds the key.

My Mother-World, I wonder
When no more of life a part-
A clod your bosom under-
Will you take me to your heart?