Dear brother, would you know the life,
    Please God, that I would lead?
    On the first wheels that quit this weary town
    Over yon western bridges I would ride
    And with a cheerful benison forsake
    Each street and spire and roof, incontinent.
    Then would I seek where God might guide my steps,
    Deep in a woodland tract, a sunny farm,
    Amid the mountain counties, Hants, Franklin, Berks,
    Where down the rock ravine a river roars,
    Even from a brook, and where old woods
    Not tamed and cleared cumber the ground
    With their centennial wrecks.
    Find me a slope where I can feel the sun
    And mark the rising of the early stars.
    There will I bring my books,–my household gods,
    The reliquaries of my dead saint, and dwell
    In the sweet odor of her memory.
    Then in the uncouth solitude unlock
    My stock of art, plant dials in the grass,
    Hang in the air a bright thermometer
    And aim a telescope at the inviolate sun.