By a New Englander in California
I am hungry for the naked branch; I would breathe
The thin harsh air of winter and grow strong.
It is not my home, this tempered clime
I have been pampered here too long, too long.
There is no challenge in a placid warmth -
My blood moves slow in this too pretty land.
Oh, let me have the bleak steel skies of winter;
Let me answer to the somber wind's demand.