North and South by James Whitcomb Riley — Read

Of the North I wove a dream, / All bespangled with the gleam / Of the glancing wings of swallows / Dipping ripples in a stream, / That, like a tide of wine, / Wound through lands of shade and shine / Where purple grapes hung bursting on the vine.

And where orchard-boughs were bent / Till their tawny fruitage blent / With the golden wake that marked the / Way the happy reapers went; / Where the dawn died into noon / As the May-mists into June, / And the dusk fell like a sweet face in a swoon.