Independence

I grew single and sure,
And I will not endure
That my mind should be seen
By the sage or the boor.

I will keep, if I can,
From each brotherly man :
The help of their hands
Is no part of my plan.

I will rise then and go
To the land of my foe,
For his scowl is the sun
That shall cause me to grow.

Songs From The Clay [1915]