The Writings of Bret Harte standard library edition |
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THE HOMESTEAD BARN |
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 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
THE HOMESTEAD BARN
Past dreams of bliss our lives contain,
And slight the chords that still retain
A heart estranged to joys again,
To scenes by memory's silver chain
Close-linked, and ever yet apart,
That like the vine, whose tendrils young
Around some fostering branch have clung,
Grown with its growth, as tho' it sprung
From one united heart.
And slight the chords that still retain
A heart estranged to joys again,
To scenes by memory's silver chain
Close-linked, and ever yet apart,
That like the vine, whose tendrils young
Around some fostering branch have clung,
Grown with its growth, as tho' it sprung
From one united heart.
289
I think of days long gone before,
When, by a spreading sycamore,
Stood, in the happy days of yore,
Low-roofed, broad-gabled, crannied door,
The homestead barn, where free from harm,
In shadowy eaves the swallow built,
In darkened loft the owlet dwelt;
Secure lived innocence and guilt
Within its sacred charm.
When, by a spreading sycamore,
Stood, in the happy days of yore,
Low-roofed, broad-gabled, crannied door,
The homestead barn, where free from harm,
In shadowy eaves the swallow built,
In darkened loft the owlet dwelt;
Secure lived innocence and guilt
Within its sacred charm.
By cobwebbed beams and rafters high
I 've sat and watched the April sky,
And saw the fleecy cirrus fly,
Sunlight and shadow hurrying by,
Chased by the glittering rain;
Then shrunk to hear the pattering tread
Of unseen feet above my head,
Filled with a strange and wondering dread,
Till sunlight smiled again.
I 've sat and watched the April sky,
And saw the fleecy cirrus fly,
Sunlight and shadow hurrying by,
Chased by the glittering rain;
Then shrunk to hear the pattering tread
Of unseen feet above my head,
Filled with a strange and wondering dread,
Till sunlight smiled again.
And, oh! those long, those summer days,
The morning's glow, the noontide's blaze,
Or when the just declining rays,
Half shorn, mixed with the mellowing haze,
And distant hills were veiled in gray;
From newmown hay, with odors sweet,
I 've watched the lowly bending wheat
Droop lower in the yellow heat
The lazy, livelong day.
The morning's glow, the noontide's blaze,
Or when the just declining rays,
Half shorn, mixed with the mellowing haze,
And distant hills were veiled in gray;
From newmown hay, with odors sweet,
I 've watched the lowly bending wheat
Droop lower in the yellow heat
The lazy, livelong day.
Those summer days too quickly fled,
And my youth's summers early sped;
Yet when my “sere” of life is shed,
I would were mine such harvest spread
Within that barn of autumn born,
That many a tale of summer told,
Where golden corn and pumpkins rolled,
And apples, that might scarcely hold
The goddess' fabled horn;
And my youth's summers early sped;
Yet when my “sere” of life is shed,
I would were mine such harvest spread
Within that barn of autumn born,
290
Where golden corn and pumpkins rolled,
And apples, that might scarcely hold
The goddess' fabled horn;
When springtime brought each feathered pair,
When summer came with scented air,
When autumn's fruits rolled fresh and fair,
Or winter's store brought back the year,
The treasured sweets it multiplies;
And now at home, at eve appear
The homestead barn, to me so dear;
I would I read my right as clear
“To mansions in the skies.”
When summer came with scented air,
When autumn's fruits rolled fresh and fair,
Or winter's store brought back the year,
The treasured sweets it multiplies;
And now at home, at eve appear
The homestead barn, to me so dear;
I would I read my right as clear
“To mansions in the skies.”
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |