Songs About Life and Brighter Things Yet XLII

Now the mountain top is won, Behold the valley in the sun — The gold and yellow farms that lie Bare-bosomed to the courting sky; The olive hills, the meadows green. The towns that punctuate the scene; The little spires that seem to cry For leaves and blossoms to the sky. So delicate, it seems the breeze Must stir them like the willow trees. Ah, happy vale, how sweet you are, As I observe you from this car; How pleasant here to sit and shirk And know your dwellers are at work!