Far away from din and tumult,
Where the greed of pelf consumes—
I've a corner, here, of heaven
Where the creamy yucca blooms.
God! the newborn sense of freedom!
Down in chain and bolt and bar,
Rent the vain that kept in hiding
Lore of sky and silver star.
Wisdom dwelleth not in cities;
'Tis the foothill night illumes—