Poetry Archives

Name me no names for my disease,
   With uninforming breath;
I tell you I am none of these,
   But homesick unto death—

Homesick for hills that I had known,
   For brooks that I had crossed,
Before I met this flesh and bone
   And followed and was lost. . . .

And though they break my heart at last,
   Yet name no name of ills.
Say only, “Here is where he passed,
   Seeking again those hills.”