When, sick of all the sorrow and distress <br /> That flourished in the City like foul weeds, <br /> I sought blue rivers and green, opulent meads, <br />And leagues of unregarded loneliness <br />Whereon no foot of man had seemed to press, <br /> I did not know how great had been my needs, <br /> How wise the woodland's gospels and her creeds, <br />How good her faith to one long comfortless. <br /> <br />But in the silence came a Voice to me; <br /> In every wind it murmured, and I knew <br /> It would not cease though far my heart might roam. <br />It called me in the sunrise and the dew, <br /> At noon and twilight, sadly, hungrily, <br /> The jealous City, whispering always -- "Home!"<br /><br />Charles Hanson Towne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-city-2/
