Longing For Texas

No, it isn’t hot in Texas; and the cool night dews are falling,
And the katydids are chirping in the grass beside the pool;
And from out the moonlit distances the mocking-birds are calling,
And I know the days are hazy and the nights perfumed and cool.
And I know the jasmine’s blooming as it bloomed in all its whiteness,
And my heart is heavy in me—for I’m far away today,
And my spirit lags forever, and my tread has lost its lightness,
And I’m humming “Down in Dixie,” and my heart throbs: “Look away!”
Oh, it isn’t hot in Texas, for the cool gulf breeze is blowing,
And the cattle all are standing underneath the wide oak trees,
Or are wending slowly homeward from the pasture, lowing, lowing;
And a drone comes softly to me from the honey-laden bees.
And I’m longing, longing, longing for the day of my homecoming,
For the lowing of the cattle and the shadows on the stream,
For the mocking-bird’s far calling, and the laden bees’ soft humming,
And the night-dews falling coolly as the shadows in a dream.
Oh, the rolling, rolling prairies, and the grasses waving, waving
Like green billows neath the gulf breeze in the perfumed, purple gloam!
Oh, my heart is heavy, heavy, and my eyes are craving, craving,
For the fertile plains and forests of my far-off Texas home.