MY HOME

This is the place that I love the best,

A little brown house like a ground-bird's nest,

Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees,

Summer retreat of the birds and bees.

The tenderest light that ever was seen

Sifts through the vine-made window screen -

Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls

On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.

All through June, the west wind free

The breath of the clover brings to me.

All through the languid July day

I catch the scent of the new-mown hay.

The morning glories and scarlet vine

Over the doorway twist and twine;

And every day, when the house is still,

The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.

In the cunningest chamber under the sun

I sink to sleep when the day is done;

And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed,

By a singing-bird on the roof o'erhead.

Better than treasures brought from Rome

Are the living pictures I see at home -

My aged father, with frosted hair,

And mother's face like a painting rare

Far from the city's dust and heat,

I get but sounds and odours sweet.

Who can wonder I love to stay,

Week after week, here hidden away,

In this sly nook that I love the best -

The little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest?