Classic Poem

Back in the Old North State,
Back to the place of his birth,
Back through the pines' colonnaded gate
To the dearest spot on earth.
No sweeter joy can a star feel
When into the sky it thrills
Than the rapture that wings a Tar Heel
Come back to his native hills.

From coast to mountain heights
Old North Carolina lies,
A cornucopia of delights
Under her summer skies,
And autumn gives rich treasure
To the overflowing horn,
Adding a juicy measure
Of grape and rye and corn.

In June a tree so fragrant
Scents the delicious air
That busiest bees grow vagrant
And doze in its blossoms fair.
“Persimmons!” the wanderer cries;
And along time's frosted track
The luscious purple fruit he spies,
And boyhood's days drift back!

With fall comes the burst of the cartridge;
The squirrel and the rabbit are his;
Down tumbles the whirring partridge,
And the cook makes the wild duck siz;
But for these not so much does he care,
No matter how dainty the caters;
Just seat him fair in an old splint chair
And give him possum and taters.