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by [?]


Were I a wild, wild falcon,
I’d soar away on high,
And seek my father’s dwelling,
Beyond the far blue sky.

Against that well-known door then
I’d flap my wings with joy;
My mother from the window
Sees and admits her boy.

“Dear son!” she’d say; “O, welcome!
How often has my heart
Longed sadly to embrace thee;
Now here behold thou art!”

Thus memory still is dreaming
Of what can never be.
My long-lost home,–the loved ones,–
These eyes may never see.