Lines Composed in Rainy Season
They call her North who know her not or prefer the bliss of their own ignorance. Not I, and a million assorted voices Speaking a thousand tongues of men Whom she nurses in her fertile valleys And dandle on her rolling grassy plains We call her, home... Land of many colours and contrasts; A vast desert of dusty brown in off-season; Battered black and broken with wind and fire. But wait the rains in their time, And yonder before us lie verdant valleys An endless stretch of wood and grassland, Amid which countless streams run, Sparkling in the sweet morning air! In cultivated fields, women and men, daily Rejoice in the dignity of their labours, Children hop and play around every homestead, With unfeigned childhood delight and innocence. Herds of lumbering cattle graze across lush plains And what a delight to the eye to behold Every flower and blade of grass with pleasure, Enjoy the very air they draw! My heart leaps at the sight of the meadows! The warmth of the breeze heals my he