There's a pine-built lodge in a rocky mountain glen
In the shag-breasted motherland that bore me;
And the West Wind calls, and I'm turning home again
To the hills where my heart is gone before me--
Where a lake laughs blue while the dipping paddles gleam,
Where the wild geese are following their leader,
Where the trout leaps up from the silver of the stream
And the buck strikes his horn against the cedar.