by Trumbull Stickney
It's autumn in the country I remember
How warm a wind blew here about the ways！
And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
During the long sun-sweetened summer-days.
It's cold abroad the country I remember.
The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
At midday with a wing aslant and limber；
And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain
It's empty down the country I remember.
I had a sister lovely in my sight：
Her hair was dark， her eyes were very sombre；
We sang together in the woods at night.
It's lonely in the country I remember.
The babble of our children fills my ears，
And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
To flames that show all starry thro' my tears.
It's dark about the country I remember.
There are the mountains where I lived. The path
Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber，
The stumps are twisted by the tempests' wrath.
But that I knew these places are my own，
I'd ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
The earth， and I to people it alone.
It rains across the country I remember