Cranberry Road

I'd like to be walking the Cranberry Road,

Where the sea shines blue through the bristling firs,

And the rocky pastures are overgrown

With bayberry and junipers;

Where orchards of bent old apple trees

Go trooping down to the pebbly shore,

And the clapboard houses are seaward turned,

With larkspur clumps at every door;

Where there's plenty of time to say good-day

When friendly eyes from a window peer.

Oh, I wish I were back on the Cranberry Road

I'd rather be there than here.