And the air smells of olives and pines,
And at evening the vesper bells' chiming
Floats up toward the far Apennines.
You like it, no doubt, and you'd never
See beauties that nature can hold
Where the snow lies in drifts on the river
And the prairies are empty and cold.
But somehow I wouldn't forego it
For all of those soft, southern lands.
I breathe it and feel it and know it;