Oct 312013
 
I walk among the dappled hills,
I hike from crest to crest--
In each valley crease I spill
Sweet apple-seed for unmade nests.

In freedom's air, no kingly care
Weighs down my brow or song;
Over hill, over land, or down the rivers grand
I sing my self-taught song.

Long my stride, for the land is wide
As I plant the pioneer root;
Free surge the seeds, and free springs the pride:
Green Eden must have fruit.

Over hill, over land, or down the rivers grand
I sing my self-taught song.

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