OLD-FASHIONED ROSES

They ai n't no style about‘ em,

And they're sorto’ pale and faded,

Yit the doorway here, without‘ em,

Would be lonesomer, and shaded

With a good‘ eal blacker shadder

Than the morning-glories makes,

And the sunshine would look sadder

Fer their good old-fashion’ sakes,

I like‘ em‘ cause they kindo’ —

Sorto’ MAKE a feller like‘ em!

And I tell you, when I find a

Bunch out whur the sun kin strike‘ em,

It allus sets me thinkin’

O’ the ones‘ at used to grow

And peek in thro’ the chinkin’

O’ the cabin, do n't you know!

And then I think o’ mother,

And how she ust to love‘ em —

When they wuz n't any other,

‘ Less she found‘ em up above‘ em!

And her eyes, afore she shut‘ em,

Whispered with a smile and said

We must pick a bunch and putt‘ em

In her hand when she wuz dead.

But, as I wuz a-sayin’,

They ai n't no style about‘ em

Very gaudy er displaying

But I would n't be without‘ em,—

‘ Cause I'm happier in these posies,

And the hollyhawks and sich,

Than the hummin’ - bird‘ at noses

In the roses of the rich.