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     Beside the mystic asphodels
Shall bloom the home-born flowers,
     And new horizons flush and glow
With sunset hues of ours.

Farewell! these smiling hills must wear
     Too soon their wintry frown,
And snow-cold winds from off them shake
     The maple's red leaves down.
But I shall see a summer sun
     Still setting broad and low;
The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom,
     The golden water flow.
A lover's claim is mine on all
     I see to have and hold,—
The rose-light of perpetual hills,
     And sunsets never cold!


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1876 AD (1)
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