God’s Places

I SAID, 'I am so tired of all the old tired faces In the crowded places, I tire of all the weary steps that cross and beat Down the long swift street:' I said, 'I will return into my own still room, Thick with peace and gloom.' I said, 'I will summon up the still bright streams Of my trooping dreams, Whose faces are as weariless and calm and young As a bird-note sung, Who drift along with sunset-colored robes outblowing, Of all need unknowing.' And then . . . the sun shone cloudless, and the wind blew fleet Down the long swift street And through the windowed canyon's end the sky's sweet blue Shone unwearied through, And I said, 'But I must stay, for see, my brother's faces Here in God's own places!'