The Suburbs

MILES and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour,  
Each for some unquiet soul a haven and a home,  
Pleasant fires for winter nights, for sun the trellised arbour,  
Earth the solid underfoot, and heaven for a dome.  
 
Washed by storms of cleansing rain, and sweetened with affliction,  
The hidden wells of Love are heard in one low-murmuring voice  
That rises from this close-meshed life so like a benediction  
That, listening to it, in my heart I almost dare rejoice.