O MAGNET-SOUTH! O glistening, perfumed South! My South!
O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!
O dear to me my birth-things—All moving things, and the trees where I was
Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, over flats of silvery
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem