 | Cuckoo songs |  |
87
House and Home
Where is the house, the house we love?
By field or river, square or street,
The house our hearts go dreaming of,
That lonely waits our hurrying feet;
The house to which we come, we come,
To make that happy house our home.
By field or river, square or street,
The house our hearts go dreaming of,
That lonely waits our hurrying feet;
The house to which we come, we come,
To make that happy house our home.
Is it under grey London skies?
Or somewhere hid in fields and trees,
With gardens where a musk wind sighs,
Or one brown plot to grow heartsease?
I know not. Where it stands it holds
Our secret that the days unfold.
Or somewhere hid in fields and trees,
With gardens where a musk wind sighs,
Or one brown plot to grow heartsease?
I know not. Where it stands it holds
Our secret that the days unfold.
O dear dream-house, for you I store
A medley of such curious things
As a wise thrush goes counting o'er,
Ere the glad moon of songs and wings,
When a small nest makes all her heaven,
And a true mate that sings at even.
A medley of such curious things
88
Ere the glad moon of songs and wings,
When a small nest makes all her heaven,
And a true mate that sings at even.
Up those dim stairs my heart will steal,
And quietly through the listening rooms,
And long in prayerful love will kneel,
And in the sweet-aired twilight glooms
Will set a curtain straight, or chair,
And dust and order and make fair.
And quietly through the listening rooms,
And long in prayerful love will kneel,
And in the sweet-aired twilight glooms
Will set a curtain straight, or chair,
And dust and order and make fair.
O tarrying Time, hasten, until
You light our hearth-fires, dear and warm,
Set pictures on those walls so chill,
And draw our curtains 'gainst the storm,
And shut us in together, Time,
In a new world, a happier clime!
You light our hearth-fires, dear and warm,
Set pictures on those walls so chill,
And draw our curtains 'gainst the storm,
And shut us in together, Time,
In a new world, a happier clime!
Whether our house be new or old
We care not; we will drive away
From last year's nest its memories cold,
And all be gold that once was grey.
O dear dream-house for which we pray,
Our feet come slowly up your way!
We care not; we will drive away
89
And all be gold that once was grey.
O dear dream-house for which we pray,
Our feet come slowly up your way!
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