The Lark sings for joy in her own loved land,
In the furrowed field, by the breezes fanned;
        And so revel we
        In the furrowed sea,
As joyous and glad as the lark can be.

On the placid breast of the inland lake
The wild duck delights...

Poet: Anonymous

Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy,
  Shall we seek for communion of souls
Where the deep Mississippi meanders,
  Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?

Ah no,—for in Maine I will find thee
  A sweetly sequestrated nook
Where the far winding...

Poet: Anonymous