The leaves are green, and in the grass
Lie daisy-patches, white and sweet,
That spring beneath the tender feet
Of baby-girls at play:
From ancient boughs, serenely tall,
The chequered shadows length'ning fall,
And town seems far away.
Such rest is here as woodland yields:
Here too are lambs in flowered fields —
Why heed the wheels that pass?
Thought sinks beneath our fitful speech
Into the tremor of our peace,
This hallowed hour of release
From dust and whirl and haste:
Thus each may find within his breast
A respite to the world's unrest,
Fresh verdure in the waste:
Life's wheels encircle us — but, there
Where Friendship is, the untainted air
Of Heaven seems in reach.