Land of the Wild Scrub Pine

These are my acres no man can take from me: Land of the wild scrub pine and heron’s flight, Islands of purple hyacinths drifting to sea, Mornings sun-blinded, hours of breathless night Waiting the tide, like a great lover, to turn Shoreward again with starlight in its eyes; This is the land for which I begin to yearn When I am no farther away than the gull flies. There is no gold nor silver in the veins Of this, my land, but beauty journeys deep In its black soil to light the tangled skeins Of spider lily blossoms pale as sleep, And in the eyes of its people, happy and free, Burns all the slow wisdom of eternity.