 | Poems of Rural Life in Common English |  |
F.
Though his head is as thoughtless, a lout,
As the ball he would hit so about,
In the games that they play'd,—and he's near;
But my Willie is gone from my door,
And too far to come back any more,
Any more to come here.
C.
Home's a nest,
Where our children are bred to fulfil
Not our own, but our Father's good will.
Though his head is as thoughtless, a lout,
As the ball he would hit so about,
In the games that they play'd,—and he's near;
But my Willie is gone from my door,
And too far to come back any more,
Any more to come here.
C.
Home's a nest,
Where our children are bred to fulfil
Not our own, but our Father's good will.
| Poems of Rural Life in Common English | |