My Heart Has Built a Hill

"I will return in April," I had said,

"To see the Mountain Bluebells wreathe this hill

With azure garlands." As the years swift-sped,

I could not leave my city-tasks but still

With the first crocus I would pledge anew

Watching the skeins of geese in northward flight.

Yet every April found me smiling through

Nostalgic tears for meadows clover-white

And greening mountains. I would ache to hear

Wind through the aspens and the night hawk's cry.

I could not be denied the stars so near

That I could pick them from my hilltop sky.

So now each springtime, though I cannot go,

I climb a greening hill where bluebells grow.