HEIMWEH

I dwell in a region of valleys fair,

Of stately forests and mountains bold,

Of churches filled with treasures rare,

And storied castles centuries old;

But now and then, when the sun sinks low,

And the vesper bell is softly rung,

I think of the days of long ago,

And yearn for the land where I was young.

I live where the sun shines bright and warm

On feathery palms and terraced vines,

Yet oft I sigh for a boreal storm

And the sough of the wind through northern pines;

And though my ear hath wonted grown

To the accents strange of an alien tongue,

No speech hath half so sweet a tone

As the language learned when I was young.

I live in a land where men are kind,

And friends increase, as the years roll on,

Yet of them all not one I find

So dear as those of the days now gone;

And so I think, as the sun sinks low,

And the curfew bell of my life is rung,

I shall turn to my home of long ago,

And die in the land where I was young.