Explore "The Call" by Virna Sheard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Across the dusty, foot-worn street / Unblessed of flower or tree, / Faint and far-off -- there ever sounds / The calling of the sea.
From out the quiet of the hills, / Where purple shadows lie, / The pine trees murmur, "Come and rest / And let the world go by."
The west wind whispers all night long / "Oh, journey forth afar / To the green and pleasant places / Where little rivers are!"
And the soft and silken rustling / Of bending yellow wheat / Says, "See the harvest moon -- that dims / The arc-lights of the street."
Though the city holds thee captive / By trick, and wile, and lure, / Out yonder lies the loveliness / Of things that shall endure.
The river road is wide and fair, / The prairie-path is free, / And still the old earth waits to give / Her strength and joy to thee.