  HERE in the crowded city’s busy street, Swayed by the eager, jostling, hasting throng, Where Traffic’s voice grows harsher and more strong, I see within the stream of hurrying feet A company of trees in their retreat, Dew-bathed, dream-wrapped, and with a thrush’s song Emparadising all the place, along Whose paths I hear the pulse of Beauty beat. ’Twas yesterday I walked beneath the trees, To-day I tread the city’s stony ways; And still the spell that o’er my spirit came Turns harshest sounds to shy bird ecstasies, Pours scent of pine through murky chimney haze, And gives each careworn face a woodland frame. |
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