A Reed by the River/Exile

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

EXILE

I'd rather be hearing the sweep of the pines on the hill,
Than all of your mad, night noises, mocking me so!
I'd rather be under the stars, shining steady and still,
Than watching the glitter of lights here above and below.

I'd rather be taking the old river path just begun,
With a glimmering candle afar making warmth in the night,
Than here in the crowd, and not one,—O my heart.—not one!
To turn all the longing to laughter, the gloom into light!

The wave of my river were never so dark and so cold
As the tide of the crowd and I in it, yet ever, alone,
And I'd rather be eating a crust with her dear hand to hold
Than wanting the bread of the heart, in a city of stone!

Take all of your maddening bells, and the mirth they have rung,
And give me a voice that is far, a voice that is dear,—
For the whisper of love can out-measure all songs that are sung,
As one,—O my heart!—could out-number the multitudes here!

O I know that the New Year is setting of hopes all a-thrill,
And I know that the new world is young and is brave and is bold,—
But I'd rather be hearing the sweep of the pines on the hill,
For love has a soil of its own, and memory still Thanks God for the Old!