HOUSE-HUNTING

Time was when spring returned we went

To find another home to rent;

We wanted fresher, cleaner walls,

And bigger rooms and wider halls,

And open plumbing and the dome

That made the fashionable home.

But now with spring we want to sell,

And seek a finer place to dwell.

Our thoughts have turned from dens and domes;

We want the latest thing in homes;

To life we'll not be reconciled

Until we have a bathroom tiled.

A butler's pantry we desire,

Although no butler do we hire;

Nell's life will be one round of gloom

Without a closet for the broom,

And mine will dreary be and sour

Unless the bathroom has a shower.

For months and months we've sat and dreamed

Of paneled walls and ceilings beamed

And built-in cases for the books,

An attic room to be the cook's.

No house will she consent to view

Unless it has a sun room, too.

There must be wash bowls here and there

To save much climbing of the stair;

A sleeping porch we both demand —

This fad has swept throughout the land —

And, Oh,‘ twill give her heart a wrench

Not to possess a few doors, French.

I want to dig and walk around

At least full fifty feet of ground;

She wants the latest style in tubs;

I want more room for trees and shrubs,

And a garage, with light and heat,

That can be entered from the street.

The trouble is the things we seek

Cannot be bought for ten-a-week.

And all the joys for which we sigh

Are just too rich for us to buy.

We have the taste to cut a dash:

The thing we're lacking most is cash.