OUT OF THE CITY

Here in the ring of the hills, Under a cloudy sky, Content at last I lie Where Peace o’erspills Like a cool rain which giveth This brave daisy scent And wine of sacrament Whereby he liveth. The big hooters may howl, Men quarrel, whistles screech, I will hear only the speech Of my forgotten soul, Which is the speech of trees, Soft yet of clarity And brimmed with verity And all gay peace.