I Thought And Thought Of Thy Crass Clanging Town To Folly, Till Convinced Such Dreams Were Ill, I Held My Heart In Bond, And Tethered Down Fancy To Where I Was, By Force Of Will. I Said: How Beautiful Are These Flowers, This Wood, One Little Bud Is Far More Sweet To Me Than All Man'S Urban Shows; And Then I Stood Urging New Zest For Bird, And Bush, And Tree; And Strove To Feel My Nature Brought It Forth Of Instinct, Or No Rural Maid Was I; But It Was Vain; For I Could Not See Worth Enough Around To Charm A Midge Or Fly, And Mused Again On City Din And Sin, Longing To Madness I Might Move Therein! 16 W. P. V., 1866.