Oh, when all this weary dusty noise

Is more than I can bear, until

I faint and choke

Then I can rise and go to Quiet Hill.

The wind dreams through the blue pines

in the long night there,

And flowing air

Comes down around me cool,

And faintly sweet, and still,

And I can sleep,

On Quiet Hill.

The winds whisper of it

Soft, and long, and deep

As in sleepy rooms in dark,

And there a brook

Thinks gently to itself of sleep.