The Blue

I’m tired of the tubes and tunnels

     The sway of the reeling car;

I’m tired of the smoking funnels

     Which point to the sky and star.

I’m tired of the endless riot

     And the noisy avenue;

And long for the peace and quiet

     Out over the hills of blue.

But I have to stay in the city,

     In the sky-hid town instead;

Where commerce has none of pity,

     And dig-out my daily bread.

Where it’s dull and dark and tiring,

     With nothing but work in view;

Where nothing would seem inspiring,

     And I feel downcast and blue.

Then I take out my pipe instanter,

     To puff the dull cares away;

When lo! they gather and canter

     Off into the smoky day.

And scenes for which I’ve been longing,

     The hills and the valleys, too.

The streams of my dreams come thronging,

     All framed in the rings of blue.

March 24, ‘09