WE dwellers on the city street Too little see, too little praise, How Nature yields herself to meet Man's modern ways. Not far from crowds and rows of shops We've still a world that's fresh and new, And still above the chimney tops Our sky is blue. Oh, sweet! that green things find a place Amidst this stern civility; That beauty even here can grace Utility! That thrushes care to sing and nest Here, where this patch of woodland lies Close to the city's heart to rest Our tired eyes! What matter if our river flows More slowly than a river should? Canals would hasten more, one knows, If they but could. These boats that peasant mothers guide Past lofty house-fronts, towers, and domes, To us, o'er-strained, o'er-cityfied, Are country homes. Hard on the highway's noise and dust I know a path where still remain Wild things enough to make it just A country lane. Each sunset over bridge and wall Relieves a care, bestows a charm, The same as where the shadows fall On field and farm. For hearts must fear and hope and wait, Be they behind a lock or latch, -- Whether beneath the tile and slate Or roof of thatch. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 3 by CONRAD AIKEN AFTER THE PAPAGO by JAMES GALVIN THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW HER EYES TWIN POOLS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE CRANES OF IBYCUS by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CONVENT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE AWAKENING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SPARROW HARK IN THE RAIN (ALEXANDER STEPHENS HEARS NEWS) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |