OH, Kirkwood is a fine town, snugly nestled by the hills, Eastward fringed by many meadows running gold with daffodils, Westward banked by three blue mountains walling off the sweeping sea Which lies scarlet toward the sunset with its miles of majesty. There are simple folks in Kirkwood, some five hundred souls or more, Who are satisfied with meadows and the mountains at their door, They have little need of cities, with their grime and grind and glare And they ask not more of fortune than their frugal country fare. Once I gamboled in their hayfields in the heavy heat of noon, And stole peaches in their orchards by the dim light of the moon, Climbed the mountains in the morning, young and frisky as the dawn, But since then full sixty summers silently have come and gone. Ah, I know brave lads go roaming where my young heart loved to roam Ere the wiles of shining cities lured me from my boyhood home, And I fain would shake my fetters and go back to them to-day, Simple-hearted, free and careless, join them in their pranks and play. To go back! — what riot-dreaming! there are gulfs between us now, Time, the enemy unbending, hath put silver on my brow, And the jealous-tempered city, with its many-splendored mart, Holds me captive to the music of the multitude's great heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINCOLN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY INLAND by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY REVEL by ABUL HASAN OF SANTA MARIA TO A THESAURUS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE TENDER HUSBAND: PROLOGUE by JOSEPH ADDISON |