Stevens, Wallace, rearranged
In Tennessee, like nothing else,
Of neither bird nor bush you gave.
Bare and grey you were.
Dominion, you took everywhere.
Of a port in air, and tall,
And round upon the ground you were.
No longer wild, sprawled around,
The wilderness rose up to you:
A hill, surrounded by wilderness
Made slovenly by you.
Upon that hill you were round.
In Tennessee I placed you.