Better go outdoors now, shut the door on trouble,
Lest if I stay indoors life should bend me double;
Care hides in house corners, but has little use
For a hummock pasture full of sun-burnt spruce.
It is high time I found out one or two things: whether
Lamb-kill is blooming like a flowerier heather;
Whether after all this rain, green-white bells are set
Thick on high bush blueberry like wild mignonette.
Better stub my feet on roots, let the bronze-green fly
Sun itself upon my hand imperturbably;
Through the blazing mica grains by a road well known
Watch the small red spider running down the stone.