A TOAST

 

To the land of red apples,

      The orchards and slopes;

The land of my boyhood,

      Birthland of my hopes;

The land where wild grapevines

      Loop down in a swing,

To the land of my loving,

      Where orioles sing!

 

Where apples are crushed

     In the press at the mill;

Where night hears the plaint

      Of the lone whippoorwill;

 And where the wide river

      In majesty flows;

To the land of my loving!

      The land of the rose!

 

To the land of fair maidens,

      Blue eyes and gold hair;

Or brown eyes, or black eyes,

      Or dark maids, or fair,

The land where the purple

      Sweet lilacs still blow;

To the land of the sweethearts

      We loved long ago!

 

To the land where the highways

      Curve gracefully down

To the green river valleys

      Par, far from the town;

Where the sycamore bends

      Far across the still stream,

To the land -where each day

      Of my life was a dream!

 

Then fill high your glasses

     And drain at a draught;

To my birthplace, the land

      Where in childhood

I laughed! Drink—drink in clear water!

      As sparkling as dew

That gemmed the wide slopes

      That my babyhood knew.

 

 Lilts O Love Table Of Contents