84
THE OLD BARN.
THE OLD BARN.
Rickety, old, and crazy,
Shingleless, lacking some doors;
Bad in the upper story,
Wanting boards in the floors;
Cobwebs over the rafters,
Ridge-pole rotten and gray,
Hanging in helpless impotence
Over the mows of hay.
Shingleless, lacking some doors;
Bad in the upper story,
Wanting boards in the floors;
Cobwebs over the rafters,
Ridge-pole rotten and gray,
Hanging in helpless impotence
Over the mows of hay.
Oh, how I loved the shadows
That clung to the silent roof!
Day-dreams wove with the quiet
Many a glittering woof!
I climbed to the highest cross-beam,
Watched the swallows at play,
Admired the knots in the boarding,
And rolled in billows of hay.
That clung to the silent roof!
Day-dreams wove with the quiet
Many a glittering woof!
I climbed to the highest cross-beam,
Watched the swallows at play,
Admired the knots in the boarding,
And rolled in billows of hay.
Roughly the winds tore round it,
Winds of a stormy day,—
Scattering the fragrant hay-seed,
Whirling the straws away!
Streaming in at the crannies,
Spreading the clover smell,
Changing that dark old granary
Into a flowery dell.
Winds of a stormy day,—
Scattering the fragrant hay-seed,
Whirling the straws away!
Streaming in at the crannies,
Spreading the clover smell,
Changing that dark old granary
Into a flowery dell.
