THE ESCAPE by JOHN COWPER POWYS

In the dreadful city's roar
I have my clue to peace;
And I carry it evermore,
And it always brings release.

'Tis a spot which I once found,
Bordered by grasses tall,
Where a garden touches a burying-ground,
And elm-tree shadows fall.

Here I can feel my bones
Mouldering one by one,
Far from the rattle of wheels on stones,
While the slowly-mounting sun

Gleams on the slope of the hill
And shines on the stream beyond;
And the village maidens bend and fill
Their buckets at the pond.

And the people little guess
As they pass me in train and car,
Why I stretch my legs, and press
My hands together, and stare --

They can see not the slope of the hill;
They can see not the stream beyond;
They can see not the elm-tree hushed and still,
Nor the buckets at the pond --

They know not how tender-sweet
It is to feel one's bones
With honest earth-mould mingle, and meet,
In the dust, with delicate hands and feet,
Far from these clattering stones.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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