There is a place hung o'er of summer boughs <br />And dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps; <br />Where water flows, within whose lazy deeps, <br />Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse, <br />The minnows twinkle; where the bells of cows <br />Tinkle the stillness; and the bobwhite keeps <br />Calling from meadows where the reaper reaps, <br />And children's laughter haunts an oldtime house: <br />A place where life wears ever an honest smell <br />Of hay and honey, sun and elder-bloom,- <br />Like some sweet, simple girl,-within her hair; <br />Where, with our love for comrade, we may dwell <br />Far from the city's strife, whose cares consume.- <br />Oh, take my hand and let me lead you there.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/after-long-grief/
