Page:Poems Allen.djvu/61

Catch first a glimmer of old White Head,
 And are sure they are almost home;
And many a homesick tear is shed
 By wanderers miles away,
As memory whispers of old White Head,
 And the islands of Casco Bay,

Ah, rarest mosses that ever were seen
 Grow brightly on old White Head;
Orange, and russet, and emerald green
 Wide over the rocks are spread;
And when the sweet June sunlight shines,
 The gossiping zephyr tells
Where ruby and golden columbines
 Are swinging their myriad bells.
Ah, thus, as I lie on my tiresome bed,
 I cheat the dreary day
By summer pictures of old White Head,
 And the billows of Casco Bay.

Did I forget? It is winter now
 On the islands and old White Head.
The snow lies deep on the cliff's high brow,
 And the lichens and blooms are dead;