98
A WORD TO THE OLD GARRET.
But wasps at the window
Come in as of yore,
And sunshine comes creeping
Around by the door.
The mahogany cradle,
With hood like a monk,
Repeats, as I rock it,
The old-time "ka-dunk."
The books, wise and olden,
Lean all in a row ;
The sword in the rafters
Was there long ago.
The spinning-wheel, idle,
Crowds under the eaves;
The herbs, quaint and fragrant,
Are hanging in sheaves.
The chest in the corner,
Where school-books are thrown,
The maps, dim and yellow,
The world has outgrown.
Ah ! the swing in the shadow
Is knotted up high,
Since the last little owner
Went up to the sky.
O insensible garret !
You don t know or care
