IT'S over the mountains, a million miles, it's over the misty sea, it's off at the end of the forest aisles—it's ne'er where we chance to be. Our homes are gay with the rose and thyme, and the grass is bright with dew, but we always think of a far-off clime, as the land where the dreams come true. The young man frets in his native ditch, and pines for a place afar; if he stays at home he can never hitch his cart to a rising star. He hears the travelers warmly speak of wonderful things they knew, and he wanders off in the dawn to seek the land where the dreams come true. After many years, when he's bent and old, he totters on feeble limbs, to lay him down in the old home fold, and die to the sound of hymns. His head was gray ere he learned the truth, the truth that is old and new, that home's the fulfilment of dreams of youth—the place where our dreams come true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUNDAY NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BUNKER HILL by GEORGE HENRY CALVERT PIED BEAUTY by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS ON BOARD THE '76; WRITTEN FOR BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL INFANTRY by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS |