Chapter IV: The Land

I am back on the land of my fathers,
And I tread it with double-soled boots,
I hoe it with hands that are toil-worn
Wearing joyful and picturesque suits.

I am clad, head to foot, in dull khaki
That echoes my good mother--Earth,
And I'm glad that my profile is "boyish,"
That my "song" is a whistle of mirth.

I can cut and convey to my cabin
These logs that I need for the fire,
And I hail the concern of each slacker
Who is ribald anent my attire.

I am doing his bit, though he lingers.
I am Joan--and not Peter Pan.
Yet the vision that glows through my working
Is the love that I bear to one man.