Oh, minstrel of these borean hills, Where twilight hours are long, I would my boyhood's fragrant days Had known thy plaintive song, Had known thy vest of ashen gray, Thy coat of drab and brown, The bands of jet upon thy head, That clasp thy golden crown. We heard thee in the cold White Pass, Where cloud and mountain meet, Again where Muir's great glacier shone Far spread beneath our feet. I bask me now on emerald heights To catch thy faintest strain; But cannot tell if in thy lay Be more of joy or pain. Far off behold the snow-white peaks Athwart the sea's blue shade; Anear there rise green Kodiak hills, Wherein thy nest is made. I hear the wild bee's mellow chord, In airs that swim above; The lesser hermit tunes his flute, To solitude and love. But thou, sweet singer of the wild, I give more heed to thee; Thy wistful not of fond regret Strikes deeper chords in me. Farewell, dear bird, I turn my face To other skies than thine; A thousand leagues of land and sea Between thy home and mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 5. THE CHANGELING by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BIFTEK AUX CHAMPIGNONS by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS HELIOS HYPERIONIDES by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON DAWN by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT SEA PICTURES: 1. MORNING by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH THE RED CHRISTMAS by WILLIAM H. DRAPER MENDICANTS by M. E. H. EVERETTE |