HEIMWEH

I dwell in a region of valleys fair, Of stately forests and mountains bold, Of churches filled with treasures rare, And storied castles centuries old; But now and then, when the sun sinks low, And the vesper bell is softly rung, I think of the days of long ago, And yearn for the land where I was young.

I live where the sun shines bright and warm On feathery palms and terraced vines, Yet oft I sigh for a boreal storm And the sough of the wind through northern pines; And though my ear hath wonted grown To the accents strange of an alien tongue, No speech hath half so sweet a tone As the language learned when I was young.

I live in a land where men are kind, And friends increase, as the years roll on, Yet of them all not one I find So dear as those of the days now gone; And so I think, as the sun sinks low, And the curfew bell of my life is rung, I shall turn to my home of long ago, And die in the land where I was young.