Yet sadly and strangely to me.
O! what is the west wind showing?
New faces look strangely in mine,
Stranger tints in the sunset are glowing,
Somber shadings of amber and wine.
Far away the blue hills seem to beckon
Me back to a sweet cottage home,
Where the rose and the vine
’Round the door-way entwine—
Alas! that from them I must roam!