HOME-LONGING.
T LONG for thee, O native Western Land!
¦ I long for thy full rivers, moving slow In their old dream, that changes not, but takes The ever-changing vision of the air; I long for these, the kinsmen of my youth, And thy vast woodlands, murmuring weirdly still Lost Indian legends, and thy prairies where The bison's thunder, sinking far and vague, Grows loud and near, and is the hurrying train.
Washington, D. C.