Isa Knox

* * *

A GREENNESS o’er my vision passed,
A freshness o’er my brain,
Rose up as when I saw them last
The glad green hills again.

Amid the streets’ bewildering roar,
I heard the rushing stirs
Of vagrant breezes running o’er
The dark tops of the firs.

Far round, the wide and swooning view
The bound of chainèd heights;
Far off, the dales my footsteps knew,
With all their green delights;

Far down, the river winding through
The valley, silver white;
Far up, amid the cloudless blue,
The slow sail of the kite.

A greenness o’er my vision passed,
A freshness o’er my brain,
Rose up as when I saw them last
The glad green hills again.