’n in the evenin’ have a tune
Like Mear or some such ainshunt air,
’th cider, ’n’ doughnuts; I declare
It seems jest like they’s settin’ there
A-bindin’ shoes, or knittin’ lace,
Eround that old big fireplace,
Afore some blazin’ apple bough.
There’s too much cultivation now!
I love to think o’ days what’s been—
“Good night—good night, run in agin’.”