The Little Town
                Written in Germany

O little town of memories,
So brown and golden in the light,
Do you remember one who sees
You beckon, day and night?

There is a sweet French town that broods
Dove-grey upon a rounded hill,
Whose peopled streets were solitudes
To me, a wanderer still.

And in the South a white town sleeps:
Carven of ivory it seems:
But a man's heart perversely keeps
Such beauty for his dreams.

The rosiest, cosiest town I know
Is this above the rushing Rhine:
Here might he stay who could not go
Home to a town like mine.
They do not know you, little town,
Who say that all roads lead to Rome:
I've tramped the broad world up and down,
And every road leads home.