I long to stop those restless feet And if I only could, I’d still their babbling tongues awhile With back-home quietude. I long to let them know about Birches that stand together, And the hand that threw the blooms around My old house and the weather.
But as it is I only take Mere twigs of it to town, The lilacs when they’re on the bush And roses tumbling round. But folks forget so hurriedly And talk of fuss and feather, I think they’d best come out and My old house and the weather.
Sometime in my day dreaming Thru’ my half-lidded eyes, I’m seeing old Virginia And Old Virginia skies. The narrow, crooked roadway, The path by which we came, And then I see the river, Bluestone river, in the rain.
Then there’s the drooping willows Swaying, swirling, side by side. And the hollyhocks keep nodding To each other in the tide. And the mists we love o’ mornings Puts our dropping tears to shame. When we see it clear the river, Bluestone river, in the rain.
And there’s the little homestead Just across the running stream, It beckons from the mountain Like a kind hand in a dream. A soft, mellow light is breaking From each golden window pane, And it shines down on the river, Bluestone river, in the rain.
I’ve languished under many moons And loved them all. Ah me! But now my heart is filled too full Of hunger for the sea.
When thinking of the white gulls That ride the creamy foam, I almost hear the brave winds O’er singing seas at home.
And when I think of white mists That rise from shore to shore, In utter weariness I weep But cannot see them more.
And some day when I leave my dreams These tides in which I’ve striven, I’ll lock their memories in my breast And carry them to heaven.
The forest closed and folded About me like a tent. The tree tops swayed and toppled Rain riven and wind-rent.
The old harp in the pine trees Struck cords minor and deep. So in the storm tossed forest I was rocked to sleep.
That was long ago, O’ ages, Yet thru these rushing years, The sounds of a wind rent forest Is ever in my ears.
They called me girl, gave me the name Of one I’ll never see. I wish they’d given me instead The name of some nice tree.
A tree that rocks with every wind, Fast rooted in the ground, Straining its eager branches up To where God’s looking down.