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226 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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ELLEN O'LEARY (1831-1889)
MY OLD HOME
A
POOR old cottage tottering to its fall; Some faded rose-trees scattered o'er the wall; Four wooden pillars all aslant one way; A plot in front, bright green, amid decay, Where my wee pets, whene'er they came to tea, Laughed, danced, and played, and shouted in high
glee; A rusty paling and a broken gate Shut out the world and bounded my estate.
Dusty and damp within, and rather bare ; Chokeful of books, here, there and everywhere ; Old-fashioned windows and old doors that creaked, Old ceilings cracked and gray, old walls that leaked ; Old chairs and tables, and an ancient lady Worked out in tapestry, all rather shady; Bright pictures, in gilt frames, the only color, Making the grimy wall-paper look duller.
What was the charm, the glamour that o'erspread That dingy house and made it dear ? The dead — The dead—the gentle, loving, kind and sweet, The truest, tenderest heart that ever beat. While she was with me 'twas indeed a home, Where every friend was welcome when they'd come. Her soft eyes shone with gladness and her grace Refined and beautified the poor old place. |
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