Green Hills

These hills are green and brown,
Sweet in the sun;
They lie in and out of

MY heart so low,
All the songs that were sung
And died in their hollow.

But
that I have known the wild
birds rise,
And I have seen the last
part of the sun,

I can never forget
the trails this heart goes on
in search of the old friends

Who led me to their wings—
And they are gone,
and the hills are still,
So low,
green and brown.

—Lola Ridge

• Lola Ridge