Hard paved streets and hurrying feet,

Where it\'s oft but a nod when old friends meet,

Rattle of cart and shriek of horn,

Laughing Youth and Age forlorn,

Bound for the office I speed away,

When my auto brushes—a load of hay!

Chauffeur curses, I scarcely hear,

For things I loved as a boy seem near:

Scent of meadows at early morn,

Miles of waving fields of corn,

Lowing cattle and colts at play—

Far have I drifted another way!

Hark, the bell as............