Hills

I love the hills that crown the shadowed glade
Of light;
They turn to royal purple at the touch
Of night;
Those hills that lift their sunny crags
Toward the azure dome-,
The barren cliffs-, the rocky hills-,
The sea gulls salty home.
I love the hills where columbines and dusky blue bells hide-,
Those hills from which the ocean sends its white caps circling wide.

I love the hills that overlook the vale
Of day;
They guard the daisies in the fields that stretch
Away.
Those lofty hills that lift their peaks
On March’s windy day-,
Great rolling hills that Springtime crowns with green and softest bloom-
They scatter o’er each valley path the scent of sweet perfume.

I love the hills where roses twine each day
In June;
They gently catch and echo back each song,
Each tune.
Those flaming hills of Autumn time
That change to sombre brown-,
Or hills that dare our dancing feet
With Winter’s snow white down.
I love all hills that waft the scent of Freedom on to me-,
For hills all hold the breath of life no matter where they be.

– Circa 1929

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