FAR-OFF the lily-statues stand white-ranked in the
    garden at home.
Would God they were shattered quickly, the cattle
    would tread them out in the loam.
I wish the elder trees in flower could suddenly heave,
    and burst
The walls of the house, and nettles puff out from
    the hearth at which I was nursed.
It stands so still in the hush composed of trees and
    inviolate peace,
The home of my fathers, the place that is mine, my
    fate and my old increase.
And now that the skies are falling, the world is
    spouting in fountains of dirt,
I would give my soul for the homestead to fall with
    me, go with me, both in one hurt.


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