After the mighty levels of the West,
The far horizon and the open quest,—
Back to the land of mists and memories,
Hooded with trees and topped by dappled skies;
Back to the valleys, whence the sun upclomb
The hills of home!

Now let my dead youth have her way with me;
This is a dream-while; I am glad to be
Penned in by orchards, set about with pines,
Lured down long vistas that the soul divines;
The West anon,—boylike to-day I roam
The hills of home!