OLD ELM
With Seeds of "Snow on the Mountain"

By Emily E. Cole
From fair Dakota's prairies broad
These tiny seeds a greeting bring
To rough New Hampshire's ocean edge,
To rest within thy garden's ring.
"Snow on the Mountains"—how the name
A vision brings to memory's eye
Of distant hills and nearer vales,
And white waves on the shores of Rye.

The long brown road with ferny edge,
The scent of hay, the hum of bees,
The elms that guard the meadow's rim,
The salt smell of the ocean breeze;
These mingle with the scenes that smile
Before my eyes this sunny day,
Of noble fields of ripening grain
That spread, an ocean, far away.
No white caps on its ripples show—
A level stretch of golden brown—
Brave Indian corn and smaller grains
That make our fair Dakota's crown.

Box-elder and the cottonwood
Reign in the place of elms and pines.
Missouri rolls—a silent stream—
And over all the hot sun shines.
Dear to my heart Dakota's fields
Of blue-eyed fiax and shimmering grain,
But dearer still the shores of Rye
Beside the stormy Eastern main.