The Voice of the Maple Tree
I am worn with the dull-green spires of fir,
I am tired of endless talk of gold,
I long for the cricket’s cheery whirr,
And the song that the maples sang of old.
O the beauty and learning and light
That lie in the leaves of the level lands!
They shake my heart in the deep of the night,
They call me and bless me with calm, cool hands.
Sing, O leaves of the maple tree,
I hear your voice by the savage sea,
Hear and hasten to home and thee!