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A Childhood Home
O for the laughter and love of a child!
Rosebud lips and a dimpled cheek;
Mouth that can pout and smile and sing,
Eyes that through pinky fingers peek.
Rosebud lips and a dimpled cheek;
Mouth that can pout and smile and sing,
Eyes that through pinky fingers peek.
Rippling brook 'midst the springtime flowers;
Singing birds in the leafy trees;
Nought of the love that Nature brings,
Can equal the love that a mother sees.
Singing birds in the leafy trees;
Nought of the love that Nature brings,
Can equal the love that a mother sees.
An angel's wings seem whispering close,
With radiant message of magic art;
Maternal lips press warm and dear;
O love, what love in a mother's heart!
With radiant message of magic art;
Maternal lips press warm and dear;
O love, what love in a mother's heart!
Creeping down on the chamber stair;
Peeping through from the curtained door:
"Mother will catch you pretty soon;
Don't you bother her any more!"
Peeping through from the curtained door:
"Mother will catch you pretty soon;
Don't you bother her any more!"
Scrambling up the long dizzy flight,
Chubby feet such a hubbub make;
Peering over the creaking rail,
A turmoil that keeps the house awake.
Chubby feet such a hubbub make;
Peering over the creaking rail,
A turmoil that keeps the house awake.
"Naughty children, you make me wild;
You scatter the things about at will!"
Fainter and fainter their laughter grows,
And soft and sudden the house is still.
You scatter the things about at will!"
Fainter and fainter their laughter grows,
And soft and sudden the house is still.
The flowers bloom on their little graves,
But the footsteps forsake the kitchen floor!
No treble voices laugh and sing,
As did the children in days of yore!
But the footsteps forsake the kitchen floor!
No treble voices laugh and sing,
As did the children in days of yore!
O, those faces upon the wall,
Baby faces of memory!
Footsteps stilled on the chamber stair—
And O—the home that this used to be!
Baby faces of memory!
Footsteps stilled on the chamber stair—
And O—the home that this used to be!
1921
The Little Old Spring-House
Ah, that magical little old spring-house,
That stands near the old curb-stone!
How often at morning and evening,
We rushed there by twos and alone!
That stands near the old curb-stone!
How often at morning and evening,
We rushed there by twos and alone!
Unleashed, like the hound for his quarry,
The bucket descends to the pool;
Then, whining and cranking and squeaking,
Comes nectar, refreshing and cool.
The bucket descends to the pool;
Then, whining and cranking and squeaking,
Comes nectar, refreshing and cool.
And the names—have you seen them, so many?
Cut deep in the wood scribbled o'er!
Reluctant, we fain would recall them,
The faces that linger no more.
Cut deep in the wood scribbled o'er!
Reluctant, we fain would recall them,
The faces that linger no more.
Where now are the many who came here,
To drink of its depths long ago?
They sleep beneath granite and marble,
Effaced and transfigured below.
To drink of its depths long ago?
They sleep beneath granite and marble,
Effaced and transfigured below.
1921
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