Poetry Archives

When I go home, green, green will glow the grass,
Whereon the flight of sun and cloud will pass;
 Long lines of wood-ducks through the deepening gloam
Will hold above the west, as wrought on brass,
 And fragrant furrows will have delved the loam,
        When I go home.

When I go home, the dogwood stars will dash
The solemn woods above the bearded ash,
 The yellow-jasmine, whence its vine hath clomb,
Will blaze the valleys with its golden flash,
 And every orchard flaunt its polychrome,
        When I go home.

When I go home and stroll about the farm,
The thicket and the barnyard will be warm.
 Jess will be there, and Nigger Bill, and Tom—
On whom time’s chisel works no hint of harm—
 And, oh, ’twill be a day to rest and roam,
        When I go home!