OUT on a world that has run to weed!
The great tall corn is still strong in his seed;
Plant her breast with laughter, put song in your toil,
The heart is still young in the old mother soil:
Never bluer heavens nor greener sod
Since the round world rolled from the hand of god.

The clouds keep their promise; believe, and sow!
There are sweet banks yet where the south winds blow;
The sun still plunges and mounts again,
The new moons fill when the old moons wane:
There's sunshine and bird song, and red and white clover,
And love lives yet, skies under and over.

Is wisdom dead now Solon's no more?
Are the children done playing at the Muse's door?
While your Plato, your Shakespeare goes down to the tomb,
His brother stirs in the good mother-womb;
There's dreaming of daisies and running of brooks,
Yes, life enough yet to put in the books.

Out on a world that has run to weed!
The lusty hours, as of old they breed,
And the man child thrives. For your Jacob no tears;
Rachel is there, at the end of the years.
The waving of wheat, of the tall strong corn!
His heart-blood is water who wanders forlorn.