The Country Girl.

Yellow buses and cars and trams, Clanging of bells and traffic jams, Petrol fume on the heavy air, Smoke-blacked chimney and whistle's blare.
They are stifling my soul, they are stilling my song;
It may be life, but I don't belong.
For I would be going where orchards stand
Heavy with fruits of a sun-drenched land,
Where lonely winds that are clover-sweet
Go streaming through golden miles of wheat,
And never a sound the silence fills,
Save the bleating of sheep upon the hills.
Oh, I would be breathing the crystal air,
Roaming the tussocky ridges there,
And, lifting my face to the healing sun, The old, glad song from my lips would run.
What joy, to be off on the Central train Seeking the hills of home again!

—Hazel Dunn.