The Song of Me

Free, free, free!

This is the song of me.

For I would be like the birds awing,

Forever to soar and dip and sing;

Where I could drink of the morning light,

And rest in the arms of eve of night,

Or sway in the storms that sweep the hills,

And know no pang of the human ills.

Free, free, free,

This is the song of me.

Free, free, free!

This is the song of me.

For I would lie by the cooling stream,

And read and fall asleep and dream,

And list to the poets of all time,

And drink of the truths they preach sublime;

Or wander afar through the woods with Pan,

Away from the noisy haunts of man.

Free, free, free,

This is the song of me.

Feb. 2, 1900