Take for your joy this green earth, hung with air—
It was never yours before;
I give it new.
Nothing is lonely, least of all yourself Alone in sunlight in the afternoon.
Nothing dies in the earth among the roots: Thrust down your hand and find them growing there.
Go to the river-shore, in rippling shade,
And naked as water, enter slowly in Till water lifts you easily up and free.
Again, walk barefoot in the loose black loam;
It will be long before you leave so plain A finished thing as footprints anywhere.
Lift stone, light fire, shout in the silent wood,
Run on the hills until your rage is lost.
Stand where the wind blows and hold up your head;
Let the wind blow your sorrow to the clouds—
High in the air like smoke unclean but thin,
One ragged cloud is wasting into the blue.