I will go out to the night and the wind And the clean rain coming down, For the walls of the sky are not unkind As the gray walls of a town. I will go out to the high hill And a cleft beneath a pine; In the heart of a rock it is dry and still And the heart of the rock is mine. I will go out with a cloak close drawn, With the cool rain in my face; And my pillow by night shall be a stone In a strangely quiet place. And I will not care if the rain come down, Or if the night be chill, For I shall have left the gray-walled town On feet forever still. I will go out by myself alone To the dark night and the sky Till I am a brother to the stone, Mingled inseparably. Into my breast let the good rain seep Soothing as a prayer; The arbutus will remember and creep Out of my tangled hair. When my two hands and my two feet Quiet at last shall lie, I shall not know if the rain be sweet With my face to the open sky. The night shall come like an emperor's pall, The dawn like a crimson stain . . . I rise tonight for my coronal Out in the wind and rain. |