In the golden morn I love to roam Over the hills -- our hills, To smell the sweet-scented leafy loam And list to the lark-finch trills. The valley lies so peaceful there, Clothed in filmiest green; The happy river sings an air As it gently flows between. A mockingbird sits on a tall oak tree, Up on the swaying top, While down below, dressed in brown, I see A friendly sparrow hop. On carpets of softest silken grass Brown silhouette trees rise tall, While by a wall of stones I pass, Shy ivy tendrils crawl. Young eager voices of the wind Go laughing up the hill. I seem to see God's face so kind, And know He loves me still. The trees upon the hill are tall, Their branches brush the sky, I wonder God can see at all So small a thing as I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS PEPITA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE WITHERED ROSE by PHILIP AYRES TO ONE BEREFT by ETHEL KNAPP BEHRMAN DUNCTON HILL by HILAIRE BELLOC BEWILDERMENT by VERNE TAYLOR BENEDICT |