  A blossoming bough against the sky, And all my blood is aleap with life, As though glad violins went by In wild delicious strife! And the Suisun Hills again are green! And I am a boy in the canyons deep, Where the gray sycamores flicker and lean, And waters plunge and sleep. A light, quick wind blows into my heart, Faint with the breath of apple trees; And my lyric lark is back with a start— And orchards like white seas!
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