Oh, minstrel of these borean hills, Where twilight hours are long, I would my boyhood's fragrant days Had known thy plaintive song, Had known thy vest of ashen gray, Thy coat of drab and brown, The bands of jet upon thy head, That clasp thy golden crown. We heard thee in the cold White Pass, Where cloud and mountain meet, Again where Muir's great glacier shone Far spread beneath our feet. I bask me now on emerald heights To catch thy faintest strain; But cannot tell if in thy lay Be more of joy or pain. Far off behold the snow-white peaks Athwart the sea's blue shade; Anear there rise green Kodiak hills, Wherein thy nest is made. I hear the wild bee's mellow chord, In airs that swim above; The lesser hermit tunes his flute, To solitude and love. But thou, sweet singer of the wild, I give more heed to thee; Thy wistful not of fond regret Strikes deeper chords in me. Farewell, dear bird, I turn my face To other skies than thine; A thousand leagues of land and sea Between thy home and mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DON JUAN IN HELL by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE RELIGION AND DOCTRINE by JOHN MILTON HAY VERSES TO MR. C by ALEXANDER POPE THE BOBBIN-WINDER by JOSEPHINE ELIZABETH ARCHER S. GREGORIE NAZIANZEN by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 25, ASKING FOR HER HEART (3) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |