Lay this pleasant land, with the long South Mountain to westward;
Blue these billowing hills circled it, friendly enfolded,
Lucent in sun, or dark with the shadows of clouds floating over;
Silvered with ghostly gray of the rains, in their soft-footed marches
Melting away and passing, and leaving the blue in the sunlight.
So the farmland lay, with the yellow gleam of its wheatfields,
Green of the standing corn, a-glisten in beauteous battalions,
Pastures with dreaming cattle, and tawny streams where they loiter,
Dark-green orchard slopes, and the small white houses of farmers.
So lay the little town, with its brick-paved walks and its alleys,