Beyond lie meadow, lane, and wood
Where trail the briony and wild rose,
And where grow blossoms of delight
In an inviolate solitude.
Through that green world there blows an air
That cools my forehead even here
In this sad city's riotous roar—
And from that room my ears can hear
Tears and the echo of a prayer,
And the world's voice is heard no more.