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.