My Old House and the Weather
I GROW so very weary
Of the city’s crowded street
The babbling of voices
The restlessness of feet.
I often wish my friends would talk
Less dexterous and less clever,
And let me say a word about
My old house and the weather.
I long to stop those restless feet
And if I only could,
I’d still their babbling tongues awhile
With back-home quietude.
I long to let them know about
Birches that stand together,
And the hand that threw the blooms around
My old house and the weather.
But as it is I only take
Mere twigs of it to town,
The lilacs when they’re on the bush
And roses tumbling round.
But folks forget so hurriedly
And talk of fuss and feather,
I think they’d best come out and
My old house and the weather.
Bluestone River, W. Va.
SOMETIME in my day dreaming
Thru’ my half-lidded eyes,
I’m seeing old Virginia
And Old Virginia skies.
The narrow, crooked roadway,
The path by which we came,
And then I see the river,
Bluestone river, in the rain.
Then there’s the drooping willows
Swaying, swirling, side by side.
And the hollyhocks keep nodding
To each other in the tide.
And the mists we love o’ mornings
Puts our dropping tears to shame.
When we see it clear the river,
Bluestone river, in the rain.
And there’s the little homestead
Just across the running stream,
It beckons from the mountain
Like a kind hand in a dream.
A soft, mellow light is breaking
From each golden window pane,
And it shines down on the river,
Bluestone river, in the rain.
Sea Hunger
I’VE languished under many moons
And loved them all. Ah me!
But now my heart is filled too full
Of hunger for the sea.