tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-608254042875884843.post1209310878354272884..comments2023-10-11T01:54:29.693-07:00Comments on In the Country: when lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'dTriciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654837173309442009noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-608254042875884843.post-8465405228219062052011-04-19T11:08:25.907-07:002011-04-19T11:08:25.907-07:00Love this poem my mother taught me:
Oh, to have a...Love this poem my mother taught me:<br /><br />Oh, to have a little house, <br />To own the hearth and stool and all! <br />The heaped up sods upon the fire, <br />The pile of turf against the wall! <br /> <br />To have a clock with weights and chains <br />And pendulum swinging up and down! <br />A dresser filled with shining delph, <br />Speckled and white and blue and brown! <br /> <br />I could be busy all the day <br />Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, <br />And fixing on their shelf again <br />My white and blue and speckled store. <br /> <br />I could be quiet there at night <br />Beside the fire and by myself, <br />Sure of a bed and loth to leave <br />The ticking clock and the shining delph! <br /> <br />Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark, <br />And roads where there's never a house nor bush, <br />And tired I am of bog and road, <br />And the crying wind and the lonesome hush! <br /> <br />And I am praying to God on high, <br />And I am praying Him night and day, <br />For a little house—a house of my own— <br />Out of the wind's and the rain's way.Tricia Rose Rough Linenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04677751031571089563noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-608254042875884843.post-10058115695422397232011-04-15T13:37:51.554-07:002011-04-15T13:37:51.554-07:00very sweet.very sweet.red tickinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09400289072356876224noreply@blogger.com