Oh, West
Oh West, there my heart lies bare,
At rest between hills and hallowed mountains fair.
The lands I roam are bleak, so westward still I seek,
For no black earth nor blue sky rivals paradise so sweet.
Rocky Mountains rise, stalwart and timeless,
Their timbered slopes alive in green since the dawn of man.
The rolling plains, the winsome lands,
Made richer still by care and strong, enduring hands.
Oh, Thoreau spoke true: “Westward I go free,”
And those words resound in hearts like mine.
We cross long miles, old lives left swiftly behind,
For what lies eastward but death, Abaddon entwined?
For there rise steel spires, pressed by the hands of men,
Tall things that crowd the breath and dim the soul.
The weight of countless wills, their evils drawn to one place,
Settled deep into that forsaken soil.
You shall not turn me toward those ways again.
No force nor claim shall drive me to return through those lands and fen.
I may take rest, yet ever shall my eyes be drawn
To the lands of my heart,
To the West for which I long.
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