From the Rock Island Argus, June 13, 1914. By Henry Howland.
No snow-capped mountains may be seen
From where I sit and work away;
No meadows that are wide and green
Delight my soul from day to day;
I walk beneath no spreading trees
Nor sit beside a sparkling pool,
But there is a delightful breeze
That serves to keep me calm and cool.
All day I hear the city’s roar,
The room I occupy is small,
And when I let my fancy soar
It bumps against a lofty wall;
Instead of scents of new-mown hay,
I sniff the fumes of gasoline,
But cooling breezes all the day
Assist me to remain serene.
I may not sit upon a fence
While watching busy harvest hands;
Each morning early I commence
The work necessity demands.
But while I strive with all my might
To do my part as best I can,
I hear with undisturbed delight
The hum of my electric fan.
Let others hurry far away
In search of scenes that may be fair,
Or in the harvest fields all day
Attempt to rid their souls of care.
My brow is kept from burning by
Cool breezes wafted from a shelf—
By soothing, friendly zephyrs I
Can regulate to suit myself.