Classic Poem

The road-side airs are sweet that breathe of home,
When from their hedge-row nooks the merry flowers
Greet our return, much wondering they should roam
Who might have stayed within these pleasant bowers.
For wonders seen by ocean or by land,
For treasures won in some far orient clime,
No ear have they, but leaves by breezes fann'd
Awake them soon, and showers at morning prime.
A happy choir; but happier, sweeter still
The sounds of welcome from the well-known hearth,
Where gay, home-loving hearts entwine at will
The living garland of content and mirth.
Green be the far-off bowers, the skies benign;
These only say, " resThere, for we are thine. "