Seeking the Hermit-Sage
I see myself on a mountain, an old man
loafing in sunlight, who long since came seeking
the hermit-sage, who not finding him,
lingered, among the pines, a night, a day,
another night and day, to this very hour.
Loafing, I finger the beads of incidents past:
recall the earth-cave found beneath an oak;
the foraged-food enough; and the learned-fire,
friend against winter; the rude hut built;
and the quieting of mind, which I compare
to the slow clearing of muddied water. And now,
on this ledge, as an old man reflecting, loafing
in sun-warmth, it simply comes to me that I
am he, found at last—the hermit-sage.