The Busy Mart and Grassy Ways
I AM tired of the city's sounds and sights,
Tired of the glare of the noisy town;
I long for the quiet farmhouse lights
That shine through the trees when
the dusk comes down.
I long for the scent of the berry vines
That over the hedges climb and fall;
For the song and the breath of the windblown pines,
And the stars and the darkness over
all! I am tired of the city's sin and strife,
Of the bargain mart and the busy maze.
I dream of the dear old country life,
Of the blossomed fields and the grassy ways;
And I yearn, like a homesick child, to steal
To my garret room, by the starlight's gleam,
In the dear old home of my youth; to kneel
And pray, like a child—and sleep—
and dream!