---

Paul Laurence Dunbar - The Old Homestead
Work rating: Low

`Tis an old deserted homestead
    On the outskirts of the town,
  Where the roof is all moss-covered,
    And the walls are tumbling down;
  But around that little cottage
    Do my brightest mem`ries cling,
  For `twas there I spent the moments
    Of my youth,--life`s happy spring.

  I remember how I used to
    Swing upon the old front gate,
  While the robin in the tree tops
    Sung a night song to his mate;
  And how later in the evening,
    As the beaux were wont to do,
  Mr. Perkins, in the parlor,
    Sat and sparked my sister Sue.

  There my mother--heaven bless her!--
    Kissed or spanked as was our need,
  And by smile or stroke implanted
    In our hearts fair virtue`s seed;
  While my father, man of wisdom,
    Lawyer keen, and farmer stout,
  Argued long with neighbor Dobbins
    How the corn crops would turn out.

  Then the quiltings and the dances--
    How my feet were wont to fly,
  While the moon peeped through the barn chinks
    From her stately place on high.
  Oh, those days, so sweet, so happy,
    Ever backward o`er me roll;
  Still the music of that farm life
    Rings an echo in my soul.

  Now the old place is deserted,
    And the walls are falling down;
  All who made the home life cheerful,
    Now have died or moved to town.
  But about that dear old cottage
    Shall my mem`ries ever cling,
  For `twas there I spent the moments
    Of my, youth,--life`s happy spring.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.