Page:Poems Cook.djvu/402

There are forests, there are mountains,
 There are meadows, there are rills,
Forming everlasting fountains
 In the bosoms of the hills;
There are birds and there are flowers,
 The fairest things that be—
And these great and joyous dowers,
 Oh! "they all belong to me."

There are golden acres bending
 In the light of harvest rays,
There are garland-branches blending
 With the breath of June's sweet days;
There are pasture grasses blowing
 In the dewy moorland shade,
There are herds of cattle lowing
 In the midst of bloom and blade;
There are noble elms that quiver,
 As the gale comes full and free,
There are alders by the river,
 And "they all belong to me."

I care not who may reckon
 The wheat piled up in sacks,
Nor who has power to beckon
 The woodman with his axe;
I care not who holds leases
 Of the upland or the dell,
Nor who may count the fleeces
 When the flocks are fit to sell.
While there's beauty none can barter
 In the greensward and the tree;
Claim who will, by seal and charter,
 Yet they all belong to me."

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