On Returning to Northland

The day is come; I pause, remembering:
Once more I walk the narrow halls of brick,
Pace once again the ways I know so well,
And thrill to trace fond lineaments of old;
Too long, too long have I been gone from you!
Too long walked paths less known, less understood,
And ah! been far too long left comfortless
In the cold fields.
Cold, silent Jonah Fields!
Deserted, windswept crust of ice and dust,
Floating on oil – dotted here and there
With iron monsters sucking the foul slime
From deep, vast caverns; there I made my way,
There toiled and dug and scratched the frozen ground,
And stamped my feet against the frigid earth,
And clasped to my bosom implements of steel,
Locked in an awkward grip, with either hand
Alternately clutched against the cold.
I am grown weary: weary of the sight,
Weary of numbness, weary of travail,
But mostly weary of the vulgar men
Who curse and rave and utter blasphemies,
And vex my poor soul; farewell! For now I leave;
Let godless men still climb their godless towers,
And pump their godless oil, till all the earth
Groan with the insult – heave her icy breast –
Bring down the rigs; aye! let them topple down,
And sink into dust.
But I am snatched away,
And borne again to you, O kinder walls,
Here to be lighter, warmer – here perchance
To hap upon (who knows?) laughter and love.
Here I am happy, and here will I stay,
Until you have no more a place for me –
Then either will I sicken, early-plucked,
Or being fully-ripened, issue forth
To make my subtle imprint on the world.

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