The Wild Geese

Over my home-sick head, High in the paling light And touched with the sunset's glow, Soaring and strong and free, The unswerving phalanx sweeps, The honking wild geese go,-- Go with a flurry of wings Home to their norland lakes And the sedge-fringed tarns of peace And the pinelands soft with Spring!

I cannot go as the geese go, But into the steadfast North, The North that is dark and tender, My home-sick spirit wings,-- Wings with a flurry of longing thoughts And nests in the tarns of youth.