English poem
Ii
by A. Ethelwyn Wetherald (1857–1940)
How far we roamed away from her, The tender mother of us all! Yet ’mid the city’s noises stir The sound of birds that call and call, Wind melodies that rise and fall Along the perfumed woodland wall We looked upon with childhood’s eyes; The ugly streets are all a blur, And in our hearts are homesick cries.