Where is thy home, love? Where bright skies are flinging
Rich, mellow light over tropical bowers,
Where glad birds of beautiful plumage are singing
And butterflies wooing the odorous flowers;
Where the soft south wind strays,
And palm leaves quiver,
Through the long pleasant days,
By some bright river —
Is thy home there?

Where is thy home, love? Where true men are braving
Danger and death on the red battle-plain;
Where, in the cannon's smoke, banners are waving,
And the wild war-horse is trampling the slain;
Where the dead soldier sleeps,
Wrapped in his glory
Where the cold night-dew steeps
Faces all gory
Is thy home there?

Where is thy home, love? Where ivy is climbing
Over old ruins, all moss-grown and gray;
Where at the vesper hour, deep bells a-chiming,
Summon the toil-weary spirit to pray;
Where, as the darkness falls
Over the gloaming,
Through the dim cloister halls
Pale ghosts are roaming —
Is thy home there?

Where is thy home, love? Where billows are swelling
Over the caves of the fathomless deep;
Where, in their coral bowers, Nereids are knelling
Dirges where beauty and chivalry sleep;
Where the storm's lurid light,
Fitfully gleaming,
Startles, at dead of night,
Men from their dreaming —
Is thy home there?

No, dearest love, no. Where kind words are spoken
In a wee cottage, half hidden by flowers;
Where the dear household band still is unbroken,
Where hope and happiness wing the glad hours;
From the cold world apart,
Never more roving,
In my adoring heart,
Faithful and loving —
There is thy home.