"HOME SONG OF THE WEST" 

 Anonymous 



It came over me on Broadway, in the splatter and the mud 



And the blasted office-building seemed to mock me where I stood, 



For I saw the Sapphire Mountains girdling round the valley plain, 



And I heard the cattle lowing on the ranges once again, 



Heard the far coyote's cry, 



Saw the tumbling weed blow by, 



And the light upon the ledges where the sunning rattlers lie, 



It was clear before my eye 



As the daylight in the sky 



And I swore to see the mountains once again before I die. 



You may talk of quiet homesteads in the Immemorial East, 



And the still New England village, where the weary years have ceased 



Footing up the bills of trouble; but the only place for me 



Is below the naked mountains, where the lupines used to be, 



Oh! it is far away to seek 



By the banks of Sweet Grass Creek 



With the shadows falling purple down the slopes of grassy Peak 



Where the little roses bloom 



In a passion of perfume, 



And a man has light and air, and a man has rest and room. 



I can see the brown stock saddle, I can hear the punchers swear 



At the raving staying pony rising end-wise in the air; 



I can see the tough flank redden, where the iron rowels score, 



And the strong brown fingers plucking at the choking hackamore. 



I can see each stroke that's struck 



As the brute begins to buck 



And the buster settles to it, and sets in to ride amuck. 



Crack! comes the downward slashing quirt; 



Thud! the bunched hoofs hit the dirt; 



But the boy's still sticking to him like a shirt-tail to a shirt. 



Oh! I'll swing away to the westward on the new Milwaukee mail, 



And they'll drop me off at Two Dot, and I'll hit the open trail. 



And I'll cleanse my soul of cities, as they cleanse a sword of rust, 



And the watch-word of my venture shall be "open air or bust!" 



Oh! my heart will be a feather 



When we are riding home together! 



Oh! the hot rejoicing horses! Oh! the smell of sweaty leather! 



Oh! its home we'll ride again 



O'er the God-created plain 



To the snows that are forever, to the summit that remains. 



