Here in the quiet talk of tender leaves,
Locusts are heard and a lark's clear singing;
The sun-warmed wind clings all day round the eaves,
And when the twilight brings the moon-moth winging,
The tall elms drip with stars and insect bells are swinging.

Here there is rest beside the waters still,
That only minnows fleck with frantic leaping;
Where flowers foam and cloud-sails luff and fill,
And pleading snipe incessant watch are keeping
Among the gray-green water-grasses sleeping.

Here where the swallows dip in the sun's red setting;
Where poppies flare and lilies frost the border;
Where past's forgotten and the future seems forgetting
Error and ardor and the world's stern order—
Out from this place of peace goes up the prayer invincible,
Like noiseless thunder,
That stills the roaring mobs of furious men,
Bursts hell asunder,
And heals the draining wounds and bids wars cease.

Here where life lies sleeping and Truth's awaking;
Here where hands lie idle while thoughts roam;
The battle-line is held against all breaking,
And those who ventured forth are brought back home.