II
Terrace on terrace rises the farm, from meadow and
winding river to forest of chestnut and pine;
There by the high-road, among the embowering maples,
nestles the ancient homestead;
From each new point of vantage lovelier seems the
valley, and the hill-framed sunset ever more and more
moving and glorious;
But when in the thunderous city I think of the mountain
farm, nothing so sweet of remembrance,—holding
me as in a dream,—
As the silver note of the unseen brook, and the clanging
of the cow-bells fitfully in the dark, and the deep
breathing of the cows
In the night pasture.
