Places I love come back to me like music, Hush me and heal me when I am very tired;I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired;And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.

I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton, A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees, The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze, And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.

Violet now, in veil on veil of evening The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far;A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are;The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers And heaven is lighting star after star.

Places I love come back to me like music-- Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily;In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea, And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed, insistent, At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.