From The Sun, July 5, 1914.
I know a place where the fern is deep
And the giant fir waves high,
And a rocky ledge hangs dark and steep,
And a laughing brook leaps by.
And it’s there to be with a soul that’s free
From the street’s discordant jar,
With a blanket spread on a cedar bed,
And the voice of the world afar.
I know of a pool in a leafy dell
That the wary trout love best,
And a timid trail to the chaparral
Where the red deer lie at rest.
A night bird’s call when the shadows fall
And a cougar’s eerie cry,
A silence deep, and a dreamless sleep
Under the open sky.