Classic Poem

Where is thy home, love? Where bright skies are flinging
Rich, mellow light over tropical bowers,
Where glad birds of beautiful plumage are singing
And butterflies wooing the odorous flowers;
Where the soft south wind strays,
And palm leaves quiver,
Through the long pleasant days,
By some bright river —
Is thy home there?

Where is thy home, love? Where true men are braving
Danger and death on the red battle-plain;
Where, in the cannon's smoke, banners are waving,
And the wild war-horse is trampling the slain;
Where the dead soldier sleeps,
Wrapped in his glory
Where the cold night-dew steeps
Faces all gory
Is thy home there?

Where is thy home, love? Where ivy is climbing
Over old ruins, all moss-grown and gray;
Where at the vesper hour, deep bells a-chiming,
Summon the toil-weary spirit to pray;
Where, as the darkness falls
Over the gloaming,
Through the dim cloister halls
Pale ghosts are roaming —
Is thy home there?

Where is thy home, love? Where billows are swelling
Over the caves of the fathomless deep;
Where, in their coral bowers, Nereids are knelling
Dirges where beauty and chivalry sleep;
Where the storm's lurid light,
Fitfully gleaming,
Startles, at dead of night,
Men from their dreaming —
Is thy home there?

No, dearest love, no. Where kind words are spoken
In a wee cottage, half hidden by flowers;
Where the dear household band still is unbroken,
Where hope and happiness wing the glad hours;
From the cold world apart,
Never more roving,
In my adoring heart,
Faithful and loving —
There is thy home.