Impressions in and about Portland, Maine . THE GROUND OF KINSHIP ( With apologies to the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, who claimedfor Cambridge, Mass., the palm as Nicest place that ever was seen.) Know old Maine ? You bet I there? Dont say so ! I was, too,—Born in a farm-house with one-pitched roof,Weather-worn, if you must have proof — Pine-Tree Gulch. Ah ! Let me begYoull search from Key West to Winnipeg,No saner childhood11 you find aloofThan under an old Maine farmhouse roof. Nicest place that ever was seen,—Rugged old hills and pastures green,Rivers a-plenty with woods between
Impressions in and about Portland, Maine . THE GROUND OF KINSHIP ( With apologies to the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, who claimedfor Cambridge, Mass., the palm as Nicest place that ever was seen.) Know old Maine ? You bet I there? Dont say so ! I was, too,—Born in a farm-house with one-pitched roof,Weather-worn, if you must have proof — Pine-Tree Gulch. Ah ! Let me begYoull search from Key West to Winnipeg,No saner childhood11 you find aloofThan under an old Maine farmhouse roof. Nicest place that ever was seen,—Rugged old hills and pastures green,Rivers a-plenty with woods spot beneath the skies Soon as apple bloom perfumes rise ;Summer in Mame is time that your mouth and ears and treasures of shore where ocean lies. And bird-trilled groves and berry piesAnd myriads else that Yankees prize. Grace Agnes MOTHERLAND To-night across my senses steals the perfume ofthe pine, Oh, sweeter far to homesick hearts than draughtsof fragrant wine ; Again upHft the seagirt isles where sylvan beautiesreign, And dreams of thee come back to me, Oh, Mother-land of Maine. Thy glories gleam before my eyes, as in the oldendays, I see again the labyrinths of Cascos lovely bays ; The sea gulls cry rings in mv ears, as oer thefoam he flies. And memory sets her signal lights along the dark-ened skies. Theres laughter in the swaying pines, theresmusic in the gale ; Each ship upon the sea tonight is some remem-bered sail, And peering through the flying mist, that holdsme in its spell, I cry, What ho! O mariners! the answer is,Farewell ! Like phantom ships before the wind, they to theirhavens flee. While I a wanderer must drift upon a shorelesssea. But while the fires of being burn w^ithin the con-scious brain. My eyes will seek thy far-off coast. Oh, Mother-land of Maine. — Robert Rexdale.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectportlan, bookyear1910
