Poems of Philip Henry Savage / Philip Henry Savage [electronic text]

II

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 pavement, yet I give My soul to every growing tree That in the narrow ways 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 wanders trembling till it falls; The snow, the summer rain am I, In close communion with the sky.