Читать книгу We Are Unprepared - Meg Reilly Little - Страница 7

PART ONE

I pine, I pine for my woodland home;

I long for the mountain stream

That through the dark ravine flows on

Till it finds the sun’s bright beam.

I long to catch once more a breath

Of my own pure mountain air,

And lay me down on the flowery turf

In the dim old forest there.

O, for a gush of the wildwood strain

That the birds sang to me then!

O, for an hour of the fresher life

I knew in that haunted glen!

For my path is now in the stranger’s land,

And though I may love full well

Their grand old trees and their flowery meads,

Yet I pine for thee, sweet dell.

I’ve sat in the homes of the proud and great,

I’ve gazed on the artist’s pride,

Yet never a pencil has painted thee,

Thou rill of the mountain side.

And though bright and fair may be other lands,

And as true their friends and free,

Yet my spirit will ever fondly turn,

Green Mountain Home, to thee.

—“Green Mountain Home” by Miss A. W. Sprague of Plymouth, Vermont.

First published in 1860.