Classic Poem

O Home of my heart! while I trod thy loved soil,
How sweet were my pleasures, how light was my toil;
The woods of Arcadia, the waves of the Rhine,
Could never charm me like those Meadows of thine.

I rove on the hills unto which I am bound,
And I look on the fields, and the valleys around;
And I look where the sun at his setting will shine,
And sigh, for there lie those sweet Meadows of thine;

With thee the few years of my life would I spend,
And yield thee my dust when it come to an end;
But alas! I must live, and my corpse must recline,
Far away, far away, from those Meadows of thine.

Some friends hast thou giv'n, and dear friends of yore,
Now, distant in pleasure, they heed me no more;
Their friendship is gone, like the stars that decline,
And take their sweet light from those Meadows of thine.

Though now ev'ry bosom against me shall close,
And my frame shall no more in thy fair walls repose,
My fancy can rove where my heart shall incline,
And I'll ponder on thee and those Meadows of thine.