Classic Poem

Walking the village street, to watch the stars and find
Some peace like the old peace, some soothe for soul and mind;
The noise of laughter strikes me as I move on my way
Towards England—westward—and the last glow of day.

And here is the end of houses. I turn on my heel,
And stay where those voices a moment made me feel
As I were on Cotswold, with nothing else to do
Than stare at the old houses, to taste the nïght-dew;

To answer friendly greetings from rough voices kind . . .
Oh, one may try for ever to be calm and resigned,
A red blind at evening sets the poor heart on fire—
Or a child's face, a sunset—with the old hot desire.