| April's hand is on the hills beyond the river,
April's fingers on the latest buds are pressed; But this big, gray hill looks down on a fretting little town Where the spring time only adds to life's unrest. April's violets are out in yonder meadows, April's languor is like drugged and honeyed wine; But the lilac's luring scent on a willful heart is spent ___ O, for just one breath of clean, cool Northern pine! For I'm homesick ___ homesick ___ homesick For the North that is at once the old and new; Hills of pine and friendly fir and gray-berried juniper, How the heart turns back, in April, back to you! Now the saucy little mountain streams, unprisoned, Chatter gaily as they flee the ridge's crest; And the silent canyons frown on the sheltered little town That those red hills hold securely at the breast. There's a tang of winter's wine in every morning, While the timid shoots are creeping through the sod; There's a peace that soothes and stills when the night comes down the hills, And the heart is lifted dumbly up to God. And I'm homesick ___ homesick ___ homesick w For the clear-cut Northern skies of silvered blue; When the summertime steps forth on the North, the living North I'll be coming, hills beloved, back to you! |
The Call of Kansas and Other Poems
Esther M. (Clark) Hill
(Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. __)
Page 36
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