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 bushes 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'd like to be back on the Cranberry Road;
I wish I were there instead of here!