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.
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.
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.