Dana Burnet: The Homeland

The Homeland

Dana Burnet

My land was the west land; my home was on the hill, I never think of my land but it makes my heart to thrill; I never smell the west wind that blows the golden skies, But old desire is in my feet and dreams are in my eyes.
My home crowned the high land; it had a stately grace. I never think of my land but I see my mother's face; I never smell the west wind that blows the silver ships But old delight is in my heart and mirth is on my lips.
My land was a high land; my home was near the skies. I never think of my land but a light is in my eyes; I never smell the west wind that blows the summer rain — But I am at my mother's knee, a little lad again.