Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/174

 The pulse of nature throbs anew
 * Impassioned of the sun;

The violet, with eyes of blue,
 * Is modest as a nun.

The roses reek not of the strife
 * That crashes up the North;

Alas! the mockery of life
 * When Death is striding forth.

An alien in this lonely land,
 * I sound an alien strain,

Until my own fair State shall stand
 * Inviolate again;

The long-lost Pleiad of our sky
 * Is glimmering still afar,

And nations yet shall see on high
 * That bright and blessed star.

The church bells toll their solemn chime,
 * From out the minster eaves,

Knelling some old religious rhyme,
 * Half stifled by the leaves.

A thousand miles away, I hear
 * Those grand Cathedral notes,

Which made my youth a fairy sphere
 * With cymbal-clashing throats.