Thanks are tendered to Scribner’s Magazine and to the Pall Mall Magazine for the courteous permission to reprint verses already published in these periodicals. I sprang from the heart of the earth, From the brown, still heart That gives, though it pulseth not, All things being and birth. This vegetable mould, Black, resisting, and cold, Is pregnant in every part With essence of life. Infused with The Spark, my shell-- Pained with the mighty swell Of being and life that woke-- Travailed: fibres broke. Green shoots slender, Powerful, though most tender, Pushed upward--a crust gave way-- Earth opened ... and I saw day!…
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