There was a time when Mother Nature made 
My soul's sun, and my soul's shade. 
A cloud in the sky could take away 
The song in my heart for all day, 
And a little lark in a willow-tree 
Would mean happiness to me. 
My moods would mirror all her whims;
Trees were my strength: their limbs, my limbs. 
But, oh, my mother tortured me,
Blowing with wind, and sighing with sea. 
I flamed, I withered, I blossomed, I sang, 
With her I suffered pang for pang, 
Until I said: "I will grow my own tree 
Where no natural wind will bother me." 
And I grew me a willow of my own heart's strength, 
With my will for its width, and my wish for its length: 
And I made me a bird of my own heart's fire,
To sing my own sun, and my own desire. 
And a vast white circle came in the air,
And the winds around said, "Don't blow there." 
I said, "Blow on–blow, blow, blow, blow,
Fill all the sky, above, below,
With tempest, and sleet, and silence, and snow! 
"Wherever I go, no matter where,
My bird and my willow-tree are there. 
"However you frown, no matter how, 
I will sing as I am singing now."