What can the secret link between us be?
Why does your song’s unresting ebb and flow
Speak to me in a language that I know?
Why does the burden of your mystery
Come like the message of a friend to me?
Why do I love your vasts of corn or snow,
The tears and laughter of your sleepless woe,
The murmur of your brown immensity?
I cannot say, I only know that when
I hear your soldiers singing in the street,
I know it is with you that I would dwell;
And when I see your peasants reaping wheat,
Your children playing on the road, your men
At prayer before a shrine, I wish them well.