THE WILD GEESE

Over my home-sick head,

High in the paling light

And touched with the sunset's glow,

Soaring and strong and free,

The unswerving phalanx sweeps,

The honking wild geese go,—

Go with a flurry of wings

Home to their norland lakes

And the sedge-fringed tarns of peace

And the pinelands soft with Spring!

I cannot go as the geese go,

But into the steadfast North,

The North that is dark and tender,

My home-sick spirit wings,—

Wings with a flurry of longing thoughts

And nests in the tarns of youth.