Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.

Though almost with eagle pinion
O'er the rocks the Chamois roam.
Yet he has some small dominion
Which no doubt he calls his home.

If on windy days the Raven
Gambol like a dancing skiff,
Not the less he loves his haven
On the bosom of the cliff.

Though the Sea-horse in the ocean
Own no dear domestic cave;
Yet he slumbers without motion
On the calm and silent wave.

Day and night my toils redouble!
Never nearer to the goal,
Night and day, I feel the trouble,
Of the Wanderer in my soul.

I wonder ef all wimmin air
  Like Lizzie is when we go out
To theatres an’ concerts where
  Is things the papers talk about.
Do other wimmin fret an’ stew
  Like they wuz bein’ crucified--
Frettin’ show or concert through,
  With wonderin’ ef the baby cried?

Now Lizzie knows that gran’ma’s there
  To see that everything is right,
Yet Lizzie thinks that gran’ma’s care
  Ain’t good enuff f’r baby, quite;
Yet what am I to answer when
  She kind uv fidgets at my side,
An’ asks me every now and then:
  “I wonder if the baby cried?”

Seems like she seen two little eyes
  A-pinin’ f’r their mother’s smile--
Seems like she heern the pleadin’ cries
  Uv one she thinks uv all the while;
An’ so she’s sorry that she come,
  An’ though she allus tries to hide
The truth, she’d ruther stay to hum
  Than wonder ef the baby cried.

Yes, wimmin folks is all alike--
  By Lizzie you kin jedge the rest;
There never wuz a little tyke,
  But that his mother loved him best.
And nex’ to bein’ what I be--
  The husband uv my gentle bride--
I’d wisht I wuz that croodlin’ wee,
  With Lizzie wonderin’ ef I cried.

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been--a most familiar bird--
Taught me my alphabet to say--
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child--with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings--
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away--forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.