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North Country

It is peaceful coming home across the meadow,

the flowers are continuous as I come.

My bounding beagle somewhere in the hay

is invisible, except the flapping ears

and the white curl of her happy tail

moving through the swaying sea.

The yellow flowers are closing in the evening.

I am not lonely for my only world

is softly singing to me as I come.

They who know me as a bitter critic

who is impractical to serve his country

know me poorly; I am freeborn and pleased

with this world that I have inherited.

And ever my little dog is looking back

with her gleaming eye, and waits if I am coming.