May plume her feathers and let grow her wings,
that in the various bustle of resort were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
I absent myself from the town for a while, without feeling at a loss the moment I am left by myself.
Instead of a friend in a post chaise or in a carriage, to exchange good things with,
and vary the same stale topics over again, for once let me have a time free from manners.
Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet,
a winding road before me, and the three hours march to dinnerand then to thinking!
It is hard if I cannot start some game on these lone heaths.
I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy!
From the point of yonder rolling cloud I plunge into my past being,
and revel there as the sun-burnt Indian plunges headlong into the wave
that wafts him to his native shore.
Then long-forgotten things like sunken wrack and sumless treasuries,
burst upon my eager sight, and I begin to feel, think, and be myself again.
Instead of an awkward silence, broken by attempts at wit or dull commonplaces,
mine is that undisturbed silence of the heart which alone is perfect eloquence.
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