This is a poem written in childhood.
(This is another poem from childhood.) Beyond majestic mountains high golden fields of grain do lie. Upon the face of stretching plains rise mighty cities where refrains ever musical do swell as, in melody, they tell endless tales of valor bold. In the towns and cities old lying in that sea of grain dwells the heart and freedom's strain. Ringing loud from mount to sea it offers all humanity equal rights and liberty. Ever more shall live its fame -- My America is its name.
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