AS I go home at end of day, the old road, Through the enchanted country full of my dreams, By the dim hills, under the pellucid o'erarching sky, Home to the West, full of great clouds and the sunset, Past the cattle that stand in rich grass to the knees, It is not I who go home: it is not I. Here is the turn we took, going home with my father, The little feet of the pony trotting fast, Home by the winding lane full of music of water, He and I, we were enough for each other; Going home through the silver, the pearly twilight, I content with my father, he with his daughter. Magical country, full of memories and dreams, My youth lies in the crevices of your hills; Here in the silk of your grass by the edge of the meadows, Every flower and leaf has its memories of you. Home was home then and the people friendly, And you and I going home in the lengthening shadows. Now I go home no more, though the swift car glides, Carries me fast through the dear, the heavenly country. No one knows me, the cottages show strange faces, They who were kindly, who bid me "God save you!" of yore, They are gone, they are flown, and only the country's the same, And you sleeping so quietly under the grass. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 2 by THOMAS CAMPION MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG: HER DEATH by THOMAS HOOD RIDE NOT TOO FAST WITH BEAUTY by ELSIE TWINING ABBOTT IN THE FOREST by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS EARLY DEATH AND FAME by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE GIANTESS by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 100. AGE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE PRIDE OF WESTMORELAND by GORDON BOTTOMLEY UPON MASTER WALTER MONTAGUE HIS RETURN FROM TRAVEL by THOMAS CAREW |