ANTICIPATION
I will wash my brain in the splendid breeze,I will lay my cheek to the northern sun,I will drink the breath of the mossy trees,And the clouds shall meet me one by one.I will fling the scholar's pen aside,And grasp once more the bronco's rein,And I will ride and ride and ride,Till the rain is snow, and the seed is grain.
The way is long and cold and lone—But I go.It leads where pines forever moanTheir weight of snow,Yet I...
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