“The Low Brown Hills”

I did not love them overmuch 
Till I had turned away, 
But now they glimmer thro’ my dreams, 
They haunt the summer day 
The low brown hills, the bare brown hills 
Of San Francisco Bay. 
My heart aches for their barrenness, 
Their browns veined thro’ with gray; 
No tree where some sweet Western bird 
Might sit and sing his lay 
But low brown hills and bare brown hills 
Of San Francisco Bay. 
 
Not one slim blade of living green 
To make the soft slopes gay; 
No dim secluded forest dells 
Where one might kneel and pray 
But low brown hills and bare brown hills 
Of San Francisco Bay. 
But ah, their hold upon my heart 
Now I am far away! 
They glimmer thro’ my dreams at night, 
They haunt the summer day 
The low brown hills, the bare brown hills 
Of San Francisco Bay. 
Tell me the secret of this charm 
That ever night and day, 
From greener lands and sweeter lands 
Draws thought and dream away 
To the low brown hills, the bare brown hills 
Of San Francisco Bay. 
“The Low Brown Hills” as it appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).