Classic Poem

Gentle , gentle sisters twain,
I am sad with toil and pain,
Hoping, struggling, all in vain,
And would be with you again.

Sick and weary, let me go
To our homestead, old and low,
Where the cool, fresh breezes blow —
There I shall be well, I know.

Violets, gold, and white, and blue,
Sprout up sweetly through the dew —
Lilacs now are budding, too —
Oh, I pine to be with you!

I am lonely and unblest —
I am weary, and would rest
Where all things are brightest, best,
In the lovely, lovely West.