The black ash grows in the swampy ground,
The white ash in the dry;
The thrush he holds to the woodland bound,
The hawk to the open sky.
The trout he runs to the mountain brook,
The swordfish keeps the sea;
The brown bear knows where the blueberry grows.
The clover calls the bee.
The locust sings in the August noon,
The frog in the April night;
The iris loves the meadow-land,
The laurel loves the height.
And each will hold his tenure old
Of earth and sun and stream,
For all are creatures of desire
And children of a dream.