'Tis an old deserted homestead <br />On the outskirts of the town, <br />Where the roof is all moss-covered, <br />And the walls are tumbling down; <br />But around that little cottage <br />Do my brightest mem'ries cling, <br />For 'twas there I spent the moments <br />Of my youth,--life's happy spring. <br /> <br />I remember how I used to <br />Swing upon the old front gate, <br />While the robin in the tree tops <br />Sung a night song to his mate; <br />And how later in the evening, <br />As the beaux were wont to do, <br />Mr. Perkins, in the parlor, <br />Sat and sparked my sister Sue. <br /> <br />There my mother--heaven bless her!-- <br />Kissed or spanked as was our need, <br />And by smile or stroke implanted <br />In our hearts fair virtue's seed; <br />While my father, man of wisdom, <br />Lawyer keen, and farmer stout, <br />Argued long with neighbor Dobbins <br />How the corn crops would turn out. <br /> <br />Then the quiltings and the dances-- <br />How my feet were wont to fly, <br />While the moon peeped through the barn chinks <br />From her stately place on high. <br />Oh, those days, so sweet, so happy, <br />Ever backward o'er me roll; <br />Still the music of that farm life <br />Rings an echo in my soul. <br /> <br />Now the old place is deserted, <br />And the walls are falling down; <br />All who made the home life cheerful, <br />Now have died or moved to town. <br />But about that dear old cottage <br />Shall my mem'ries ever cling, <br />For 'twas there I spent the moments <br />Of my, youth,--life's happy spring.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-homestead-2/
