Poetry Archives

Why did I go where roses grew,
And meadow larks which skyward flew
From grasses sparkling in the dew,
The yellow sunshine pouring through?
What was there for me to find?
Were they to learn my froward mind?
From far across vast summer seas,
Rifling green marshes, bending trees,
Driving cloud-shadows down the air,
Keen breezes smote me here and there,
Keen breezes crying, Why, why, why?
And nothing had I to reply!
Beings with neither soul nor sense,
Convicting me with their pretence;
Beings of change,—but what am I,—
Once more repeating, Why, why, why?