I walk in nature still alone
And know no one
Discern no lineament nor feature
Of any creature.
Though all the firmament
Is o'er me bent,
Yet still I miss the grace
Of an intelligent and kindred face.
I still must seek the friend
Who does with nature blend,
Who is the person in her mask,
He is the man I ask.
Who is the expression of her meaning,
Who is the uprightness of her leaning,
Who is the grown child of her weaning
The center of this world,
The face of nature,
The site of human life,
Some sure foundation
And nucleus of a nation—
At least a private station.
We twain would walk together
Through every weather
And see this aged nature,
Go with a bending stature.