Explore "Safe" by Olive Tilford Dargan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
My dream-fruit tree a palace bore / In stone's reality, / And friends and treasure, art and lore, / Came in to dwell with me.
But palaces for gods are made; / I shrank to man, or less; / Gold-barriered, yet chill, afraid, / My soul shook shelterless.
I found a cottage in a wood, / Warmed by a hearth and maid, / And fed and slept, and said 'twas good, -- / Ah, love-nest in the shade!
The walls grew close, the roof pressed low, / Soft arms my jailers were; / My naked soul arose to go, / And shivered bright and bare.
No more I sought for covert kind; / The blast blew on my head; / And lo, with tempest and with wind / I felt me garmented.
Here on the hills the writhing storm / Cloaks well and shelters me; / I wrap me round and I am warm, / Warm for eternity.