The Western Hills
O WESTWARD to low lying hills, O westward o'er the sea,
To where the roads are white with dust, the uplands hazed with heat,
To places where my heart would be, the winds are calling me,
O westward where my sweetheart waits, O westward shall we meet.
The roads of other lands are long, and foreign lands are fair,
The winds with blossoms scented are, and though the hills are high,
I'd sooner tread low lying hills whose summits purple wear
All cloaked with mist at break of day enshrouded by the sky.
O some there are who love the sea, all studded white with sails,
And others 'neath the tropic sun to live and die may choose;
But give to me the western hills when tired daylight fails
And casts across the western skies innumerable hues.
So when the last war bugle's blown and flags of flame are furled,
I'll follow then the lure that wills my feet toward the west,
For westward in the hills there waits the heart of all the world,
And so I'll take the road once more and reach the hills of rest.
To where the roads are white with dust, the uplands hazed with heat,
To places where my heart would be, the winds are calling me,
O westward where my sweetheart waits, O westward shall we meet.
The roads of other lands are long, and foreign lands are fair,
The winds with blossoms scented are, and though the hills are high,
I'd sooner tread low lying hills whose summits purple wear
All cloaked with mist at break of day enshrouded by the sky.
O some there are who love the sea, all studded white with sails,
And others 'neath the tropic sun to live and die may choose;
But give to me the western hills when tired daylight fails
And casts across the western skies innumerable hues.
So when the last war bugle's blown and flags of flame are furled,
I'll follow then the lure that wills my feet toward the west,
For westward in the hills there waits the heart of all the world,
And so I'll take the road once more and reach the hills of rest.
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