O read me— For this is the land of the day, the seas— And my face—are all under the sunlit sky— All doom or destiny, I drink here— I am in the hollow of the wild— the songs of the forest burst the shattered whistling woods, Trickling down in silver notes, As the green-vat swallows— This sunlit airstream, through my veins— Of nature I drink it And feel the heartbeats of The wild multiplying— I gather here your gifts— Through nakedness, Through the harde rate, Of singing leaves— That I may sing too in the shrine of the wild. In you is a spirit—burning, And at last— I enter a quiet, cool temple— The forest, You, wild river, filth covered, Whose waters slip sideways— Through my cracked hands I gather The sun, the green freshness In the tender light of fragile earth.

• Hilda Doolittle