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Risa Bear
Sleeves dripping
from my hike
through heavy
autumnal rains,
I find shelter
amid tall books:
drying my hands,
I find one, lifting it
down with care from
that high shelf:
prints, depicting
with love, hard
country lives —
sudden tears.
O small dear things for which we fight--
Red roofs, ricks crowned with early gold,
Orchards that hedges thick enfold--
O visit us in dreams to-night!
Who watch the stars through broken walls
And ragged roofs, that you may be
Still kept our own and proudly free
While Severn from the Welsh height falls.
Oh ! for the welcome breath of country air,
With Summer skies and flowers,
To shout and feel once more the halcyon
Of gayer boyhood hours.
I think the sight of fields and shady lanes
Would ease my heart of pains.
To cool once more my thirst, where bubbled up
The waters of a spring,
Where I have seen the golden daffodils
And lillies flourishing.
My fevered heart would more than half forget
Its sighs, and vain regret.
Far, far away, from early scenes am I ;
And, too, my youth has fled;
For me a stranger's land, a stranger's sky.
That arches overhead.