Poems (Truesdell)/Song of the Mountain Maid
SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID.
I dwell in the mountains, far away From the busy scenes of strife, Where the flowers in their shadowy beauty lay, And the air is with fragrance rife; Where the ringdove fills the groves with song, And all the birds of spring Their lovely matin notes prolong, While the dew's on each glittering wing.
A lovely and sheltered cot is mine, Closed round with its summer screen Of many a fair and clustering vine, On a carpet of tufted green: My father and mother bless me oft, For I am their only child; And their gentle accents, sweet and soft, Bring joy to the mountains wild.