WHOE'ER thou art, who walkest there
Where God first taught my feet to roam,
Breathe but my name into the air,
I am content, for that is home.
A sense, a color comes to me,
Of baybushes that heavy lie
With juniper along the sea,
And the blue sea along the sky.
New England is my home; 't is there
I love the pagan sun and moon.
'T is there I love the growing year,
December and young-summer June.
I'd rather love one blade of grass
That grows on one New England hill,
Than drain the whole world in the glass
Of fortune, when the heart is still
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.