First Miracle

There was a time when Mother Nature made My soul's sun, and my soul's shade. A cloud in the sky could take away The song in my heart for all day, And a little lark in a willow-tree Would mean happiness to me. My moods would mirror all her whims; Trees were my strength: their limbs, my limbs. But, oh, my mother tortured me, Blowing with wind, and sighing with sea. I flamed, I withered, I blossomed, I sang, With her I suffered pang for pang, Until I said: "I will grow my own tree Where no natural wind will bother me." And I grew me a willow of my own heart's strength, With my will for its width, and my wish for its length: And I made me a bird of my own heart's fire, To sing my own sun, and my own desire. And a vast white circle came in the air, And the winds around said, "Don't blow there." I said, "Blow on–blow, blow, blow, blow, Fill all the sky, above, below, With tempest, and sleet, and silence, and snow! "Wherever I go, no matter where, My bird and my willow-tree are there. "However you frown, no matter how, I will sing as I am singing now."