University of Virginia Library

F.
Here under the porch's grey bow,
All my children have shot to and fro,
With a sleek little head.

C.
Home's a nest.

F.
Here are windows where hills, in the blue
Of the sky, so long shone to their view,
And the sun's evening red—darted in,
And the nooks where their toetips all sprang,
And the walls and the places that rang
With their high screaming din.

C.
Home's a nest;
O home is a nest of the spring,
Where children may grow to take wing.

F.
As small-footed maidens here walk'd
By their mother, their little tongues talk'd
To her downlooking face.

C.
Home's a nest.