Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.

The Homeland

MY land was the west land; my home was on the hill,

I never think of my land but it makes my heart to thrill;

I never smell the west wind that blows the golden skies,

But old desire is in my feet and dreams are in my eyes.

My home crowned the high land; it had a stately grace.

I never think of my land but I see my mother’s face;

I never smell the west wind that blows the silver ships

But old delight is in my heart and mirth is on my lips.

My land was a high land; my home was near the skies.

I never think of my land but a light is in my eyes;

I never smell the west wind that blows the summer rain—

But I am at my mother’s knee, a little lad again.