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Northern Maine

by Anna Boynton Averill

My native wilds! For years untold
The morning touched your hills with gold.
The north wind swept your fragrant glooms,
And bore the larch and pine perfumes
Across your lakes of lily blooms.

The fir, the hemlock and the pine
Sang on the heights—and moss and vine
Made many a far, dim valley sweet
And shadowy for the shy fawn's feet.

In silvery solitudes, the loon
Laughed with the echoes, and the moon
Made splendor on the mountains, when
The Storm King slept, unseen of men.

O woods, and lakes, and wandering streams!
Ye have awakened from your dreams.
Your sweet breath blew abroad. Beware!
The gay world comes and finds you fair.

Will all wild things take wing away?
I ween I would an I were they.
Up these deep water-ways I'd fare,
If I were wolf, or moose, or bear,
Or bird, or fawn, or fox, or hare!

O northern wilds! you surely hold
In your great heart some refuge old,
Safe hid and far and deep and dumb,
Where the gay world will never come.

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