Poetry Archives

To come back from the sweet South, to the North
  Where I was born, bred, look to die;
Come back to do my day’s work in its day,
      Play out my play—
  Amen, amen, say I.

To see no more the country half my own,
  Nor hear the half familiar speech,
Amen, I say; I turn to that bleak North
      Whence I came forth—
  The South lies out of reach.

But when our swallows fly back to the South,
  To the sweet South, to the sweet South,
The tears may come again into my eyes
      On the old wise,
  And the sweet name to my mouth.