Murmurs in the City Scramble

Murmurs in the city scramble,
Where friends and strangers brush,
Where the crankies rant and grumble,
Do not please me very much.

 But, in the Teuton clamour,
A sweet voice, such
As, through the sparrows’ babble,
The lively lines of thrush,

 Wakes immortal thoughts in me
Of things in times to come,
Of glories that will be
Or live in the minds of some.

I listen to its sound,
As I walk upon my way,
And forgive the noisy town,
Till it sweeps the dream away,

 And the voice uplifting
Is drowned by cranky drone,
As the babbling city
Returns to its moan.

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