 | Poems |  |
186
IN THE HOSPITAL.
How the wind yells on the Gulf and prairie!
How it rattles in the windows wide!
And the rats squeak like our old ship's rigging:
I shall die with the turn of tide.
How it rattles in the windows wide!
And the rats squeak like our old ship's rigging:
I shall die with the turn of tide.
I've had a rough life on the ocean
And a tough life on the land;
Now I'm like a broken hulk in the dock-yard,—
I can't stir foot nor hand.
And a tough life on the land;
Now I'm like a broken hulk in the dock-yard,—
I can't stir foot nor hand.
There are green trees in the Salem graveyard;
By the meeting-house steps they grow;
And there they put my poor old mother,
The third in the leeward row.
By the meeting-house steps they grow;
And there they put my poor old mother,
The third in the leeward row.
There's the low red house on the corner,
With a slant roof and a well-sweep behind,
And yellow-headed fennel in the garden,—
How I see it when I go blind!
With a slant roof and a well-sweep behind,
And yellow-headed fennel in the garden,—
How I see it when I go blind!
I wish I had a mug of cold water
From the bottom of that old curb-well.
I wish my mother's face was here alongside,
While I hear that tolling bell!
From the bottom of that old curb-well.
I wish my mother's face was here alongside,
While I hear that tolling bell!
187
There's a good crop of corn in the meadow,
And the biggest boy a'n't there to hoe;
They'll get in the apples and the pumpkins,
But I've done my last chores below.
And the biggest boy a'n't there to hoe;
They'll get in the apples and the pumpkins,
But I've done my last chores below.
Don't you hear the Norther risin', doctor?
How it yells and hollers, far and wide!
And the moon's a shinin' on that graveyard,—
Hold on! I'm agoin' with the tide.
How it yells and hollers, far and wide!
And the moon's a shinin' on that graveyard,—
Hold on! I'm agoin' with the tide.
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