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Title: New England Homes
Author: John S. Adams [
More Titles by Adams]
I've been through all the nations, have travelled o'er the earth,
O'er mountain-top and valley, far from my land of birth;
But whereso'er I wandered, wherever I did roam,
I saw no spot so pleasant as my own New England home.
I've seen Italia's daughters, beneath Italian skies
Seen beauty in their happy smiles, and love within their eyes;
But give to me the fairer ones that grace New England's shore,
In preference to the dwellers in the valley of Lanore.
I've watched the sun's departure behind the "Eternal Hills,"
When with floods of golden light the vaulted heaven it fills;
But Italy can never boast, with its poetic power,
More varied beauties than those of New England's sunset hour.
I love my own New England; I love its rocks and hills;
I love its trees, its mossy banks, its fountains and its rills;
I love its homes, its cottages, its people round the hearth;
I love, O, how I love to hear New England shouts of mirth!
Tell me of the sunny South, its orange-groves and streams,
That they surpass in splendor man's most enraptured dreams;
But never can they be as fair, though blown by spicy gales,
As those sweet homes, those cottages, within New England vales.
O, when life's cares are ending, and time upon my brow
Shall leave a deeper impress than gathers on it now;
When age shall claim its sacrifice, and I no more shall roam,
Then let me pass my latter days in my New England home!
[The end]
John S. Adams's poem: New England Homes
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