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Ella Wheeler Wilcox - My Home
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This is the place that I love the best, 
A little brown house, like a ground-bird`s nest, 
Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees, 
Summer retreat of the birds and bees.

The tenderest light that ever was seen 
Sifts through the vine-made window screen— 
Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls 
On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.

All through June the west wind free 
The breath of clover brings to me. 
All through the languid July day 
I catch the scent of new-mown hay.

The morning-glories and scarlet vine 
Over the doorway twist and twine; 
And every day, when the house is still, 
The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.

In the cunningest chamber under the sun 
I sink to sleep when the day is done; 
And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed, 
By a singing bird on the roof o`erhead.

Better than treasures brought from Rome, 
Are the living pictures I see at home— 
My aged father, with frosted hair, 
And mother`s face, like a painting rare.

Far from the city`s dust and heat, 
I get but sounds and odors sweet. 
Who can wonder I love to stay, 
Week after week, here hidden away, 
In this sly nook that I love the best— 
This little brown house like a ground-bird`s nest?
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