HEIMWEM 
"DEHIND the hills the sun has set, 
The dusk and dew are falling ; 
Far down the field the milker's voice 
Floats faint, his late herd calling. 
Before my weary feet the road 
Into the night is tending; 
A hush is on my lonely soul — 
O night, that thou wert ending ! 
What is it like a benison 
Into my heart comes stealing? 
Beside the cots of Christendom 
The children now are kneeling. 
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