How brightly glistening in the sun <br /> The woodland ivy plays! <br />While yonder beeches from their barks <br /> Reflect his silver rays. <br />That sun surveys a lovely scene <br /> From softly smiling skies; <br />And wildly through unnumbered trees <br /> The wind of winter sighs: <br /> <br />Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, <br /> And now in distance dies. <br />But give me back my barren hills <br /> Where colder breezes rise; <br /> <br />Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees <br /> Can yield an answering swell, <br />But where a wilderness of heath <br /> Returns the sound as well. <br /> <br />For yonder garden, fair and wide, <br /> With groves of evergreen, <br />Long winding walks, and borders trim, <br /> And velvet lawns between; <br /> <br />Restore to me that little spot, <br /> With grey walls compassed round, <br />Where knotted grass neglected lies, <br /> And weeds usurp the ground. <br /> <br />Though all around this mansion high <br /> Invites the foot to roam, <br />And though its halls are fair within -- <br /> Oh, give me back my HOME! <br /> <br />Acton<br /><br />Anne Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-10/
