Sweetly roll the summer hills,
Swept up by silky seeded grass,
That bends above the lark’s soft nest,
Beside the tracks of milky cows
That once grazed content,
And then ambled on.
Gently roll the summer hills
That start the Alleghenies,
Crowned by standing timber
Not felled by pioneer;
Where coyotes sing their hunt and kill;
Where deer hide their spotted fawns
In stillness and in hope.
Onward roll the summer hills
That drop to dusky rivers—
Fed by streams of winter melt—
Which shelter scaly fish
Marked by a shining rainbow,
Who twist through murky waters
To pools of cooler depths.
Sweetly roll the summer hills
To sounds of lurking thunder,
While clouds suspend their misty flight
To drench the farmer’s pasture,
Culled from rock and limestone beds
Amended by the fodder of horses
pulling old-time plows.
I walk the hills, along the paths
That scramble through the boulders,
Left by glaciers in retreat
And shrouded now by laurel,
I climb to make the pinnacle
Before the sun drops lower, to breathe
the evening’s clear bright air.