Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/139

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The river town that water-oaks And myrtles hide and blessHas broken every law except The law of kindliness.
And north and south and east the fields Of cotton close it round,Where golden billows of the sun Break with no shade or sound.
Dear is the town, but in the fields A little house could be,If built with care and auspices, A heart's felicity.
O friend, who love not much indoors Or lamp-lit, peopled ways,What of a field and house to pass Our residue of days?
We'd learn of fret and labor there A patience that we missAnd be content content to be Nor wish nor hope for bliss.
With the immense untrammeled sun For brother in the fieldsAnd every night the stars' crusade Flashing to us their shields.
We'd meet, perhaps, some dusk as we Turned home to well-earned rest,Unhurried Wisdom, tender-eyed, A pilgrim and our guest.
William Alexander PercyThe North American Review

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