Book 2 — HOME-SICK[314:1]
Reading edition
HOME-SICK[314:1]
WRITTEN IN GERMANY
'Tis sweet to him who all the week Through city-crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-day. And sweet it is, in summer bower, 5 Sincere, affectionate and gay, One's own dear children feasting round, To celebrate one's marriage-day. But what is all to his delight, Who having long been doomed to roam, 10 Throws off the bundle from his back, Before the door of his own home? Home-sickness is a wasting pang; This feel I hourly more and more: There's healing only in thy wings, 15 Thou breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!
May 6, 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
LINENOTES:
[
13
]
a wasting pang] no baby-pang MS. Letter, 1799, An. Anth.
[
15
]
There's only music in thy wings MS. Letter, 1799.