Riley Songs of Home

by James Whitcomb Riley

And where to wear wet lashes means, at best,

When most our lack, the least our hope of rest—

When most our need of joy, the more our pain—

We must get home—we must get home again!

We must get home—home to the simple things—

The morning-glories twirling up the strings

And bugling color, as they blared in blue-

And-white o'er garden-gates we scampered through;

The long grape-arbor, with its under-shade