My land was the west land; my home was on the hill, br I never think of my land but it makes my heart to thrill; br I never smell the west wind that blows the golden skies, br But old desire is in my feet and dreams are in my eyes. br br My home crowned the high land; it had a stately grace. br I never think of my land but I see my mother's face; br I never smell the west wind that blows the silver ships br But old delight is in my heart and mirth is on my lips. br br My land was a high land; my home was near the skies. br I never think of my land but a light is in my eyes; br I never smell the west wind that blows the summer rain -- br But I am at my mother's knee, a little lad again.