Читать книгу Undertones - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 11

Hills of the west, that gird

Forest and farm,

Home of the nestling bird,

Housing from harm,

When on your tops is heard

Storm:

Hills of the west, that bar

Belts of the gloam,

Under the twilight star,

Where the mists roam,

Take ye the wanderer

Home.

Hills of the west, that dream

Under the moon,

Making of wind and stream,

Late-heard and soon,

Parts of your lives that seem

Tune.

Hills of the west, that take

Slumber to ye,

Be it for sorrow's sake

Or memory,

Part of such slumber make

Me.