Even in the city, I 

 Am ever conscious of the sky ; 

 A portion of its frame no less 

 Than in the open wilderness. 

 The stars are in my heart by night, 

 I sing beneath the opening light. 

 As envious of the bird ; I live 

 Upon the payment, yet I give 

 My soul to every growing tree 

 That in the narrow waj's I see. 

 My heart is in the blade of grass 

 Within the courtyard where I pass ; 

 And the small, half-discovered cloud 

 Compels me till I cry aloud. 

 I am the wind that beats the walls 

 And wander trembling till it falls ; 

 The snow, the summer rain am I, 

 In close communion with the sky. 



Philip Henry Savage. 



