I left the glow where labors hum,Where little bells demand reply,Where restless windows bloom and drumTheir weather on the inward sky.I closed the glass, and in the shadeLet breath return by slow degrees;The world had not been lost, but stayedIn birdsong, bread, and maple leaves.
There may be work beyond the hill,And messages I've yet to know,But hands are more than keys to fill,And hearts need room enough to grow.So let the afternoon be wide,Let silence take the heavier part;A person may go far insideBy resting where they start.