WHEN darkened hours come crowding fast, A thought—and all the dark is past. For I am back a boy again, Knee-deep in heading barley in a Mendocino glen. I can not ever be so sad But one thing still will make me glad— That hid spring in the Suisun hills: My heart keeps going back to it thru all the earthly ills. How often when the brood of care Would hold me in a hopeless snare, My soul springs winged and away, Remembering that wild duck's nest above Benicia bay. Or when night finds me toiling still, I am back again on the greening hill, A shepherd boy at set of sun, Folding his happy sheep and knowing all his tasks are done. |