In a very lonely forest,
 Beside a lonely sea,
I found an ancient woman once,
 Beneath an ancient tree.

She was laughing there more wildly
 Than I had ever dreamed
At first she only sat and shook,
 And then she rolled and screamed.

So I naturally accosted her,
 And asked if I might share
The source of inward merriment
 Which kept her screaming there

She straightened up and looked at me
 A moment—hardly more—
I seemed to make the lady laugh
 Worse than she did before

But finally, with gasps for breath,
 And lips that twitched and curled,
Said she, “I'm Grandma Nature,
 And I'm laughing at the World!”

“The World!” said I “The world” said she,
 “Especially your half—
I used to rage and grieve for it,
 But now I only laugh

I used to suffer fearfully
 To see your needless pain,
To see you mortify the flesh
 Because you had a brain.

To see you stultify the brain
 Because you had a soul,
To see you try to save a part
 By injuring the whole.

You stunt the brain with foolishness,
 You stunt the soul with lies,
You stunt the body with disease,
 And then you seek the skies.

You're sickly when you might be well,
 Fools when you might be wise,
And wicked when you might be good,
 Yet you expect the skies.

You hedge yourselves with needless walls,
 You bind with needless chains,
You drive away your natural joys,
 And court unnatural pains

Why do I laugh?”—she shook again—
 “Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!
Because your hell is such a farce,
 Your heaven is so near.”