by Archibald Lampman





Where swallows and wheatfields are,
    O hamlet brown and still,
O river that shineth far,
    By meadow, pier, and mill:

O endless sunsteeped plain,                                                      5
    With forests in dim blue shrouds,
And little wisps of rain,
    Falling from far-off clouds:

I come from the choking air
    Of passion, doubt, and strife,                                               10
With a spirit and mind laid bare
    To your healing breadth of life:

O fruitful and sacred ground,
    O sunlight and summer sky,
Absorb me and fold me round,                                                15
    For broken and tired am I.