The harvest of our hills is not their corn, Sweet maple sap, or fragrant riven pine. These granite outcrops feed few sheep or kine; Unshepherded the flocks by beasts are torn. Here is no wealth by sudden effort born, From field or forest, river, mill or mine; Her sons for cities or rich soil resign Their brown, bare farms, unyielding and forlorn. But where Chocorua lifts its serrate peak Sharp into heaven above the heart-shaped lake, Abundant crops, unseen, clothe every knoll. Here city-burdened lives their birthright seek; A perfumed peace with every breath they take, -- The harvest of our hills is in the soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIGHT OF STARS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SPRING QUIET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 20. A FAREWELL by PHILIP SIDNEY ASTRAEA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TITA'S TEARS; A FANTASY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY: THE EXECUTION; A SPORTING ANECDOTE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM STANZAS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |