The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1892-06-23
WHERE I WOULD RATHER LIVE.

NJ all the places on the earth I'd rather live and
die,
There's one-a queer old,fashioned nest mid
green trees waving high
It's not bit like modern style, its paint is
faded gray;
Its window panes are small and wry, and
climbing roses play
At hide and seek upon the walls. and in the
easement wide
Where sunbeams stroke with soothing touch
two kittens side by side.
Hhe sloping roof quiet green has gathered
with the years,
And at the end piled stone on stone, a chimney
wide appears
There's such messy old brick walk leads from
the unhinged gate
Through rows of pinkS and migonette, and
"pineys robed in state;
The lilacs nod their purple plumes to apple
blossoms pink,
And holly hooks beside the fence the early dew.
drops drink
mother hen with downy brood is scratching
by the well
In new pressed beds Of whose smooth form
there's nothing left to tell
rhe wide piazzas curtained with cool vines
whose trumpets sing
A honeyed song to humming birds and bees on
listening wing;
How often in their fragrant shade concealed
lFOLu SlTllt anu care
I've dreamed Utopian visions in the deep old
rocking chair.
Beyond the opened door upon the old oak floor
of the hall
And scattered on the stairs are toys, rag dol
lies, top and ball
All what confusion sometimes reigns as with
their happy play
Dear pity pat and tippy-toe" beguile the live
long day
There's grand disorder through the rooms but
such welcome cheer;
No prm, fastidious chill has iced this genial at
mosphere-
You're Just as apt to find your hat and gloves or
coat and cane
On floor or chair as in the rack; and hang them
The table tops don't always shine and in the
dust you'll find
Odd figures little hands have traced, to be by
love defined
There's sometimes sugar on the board, some.
times an empty bowl;
Perhaps a fork or spoon that's lost and in the
CLOTH hole
I've seen cobweb on the wall-it softened
every tone
AS wires TO aid acoustics do-each echo sweeter
grown
D, what delight the children find in their wee
butterfly
rhc lamps don't always burn, tbs true, but
there's another light
That mclows every shade of gloom-love s
cleaning. soft and bright
No ceremony stiff repels the visitor-or me,
And kindly hands will ever stop to make "cup
o tea
What tho the broom has gone astray or stitches
lose their place
The simple meals are seasoned with the
sweetest kind of grace
What tho the carpets worn to rags, or door
knobs out of style
Affection glows upon the hearth, lifes lighted
with smile
Then let me live, and let me die il 1 must die at
ALL
Where every Joy and every pain that to NOR
Are blended with devoted love, affection warm
and sweet;
Whore there's enough of honest care to make
ones rest complete;
Where summers filled with fragrant bloom and
winters bright and cheer,
That touch each day with fond caress and make
existence dear;
Where nesting birds contcnted sing, as through
the elm tree old
The sun beams play with shadows sliding down
their bars of gold;
Where some one always fills my pipe and, in
the twilight glow,
Brings gown and slippers with kiss l dearly
love to know;
Where sorrows melt within the light of sym
pathy, and care
Becomes pastime in the hands my jewels
sweety wear;
Rare diamonds of Constancy, rich rubies flash
ing love,
Deep sapphires of faith, and pearls of kindness
from above.
Yes, give me gentle peace that's lsoved by fleet.
ing signs of strife;
The melody of Home, Sweet Home" sung by
dear babes and wife.
o, let me live and let me die wnen e'er the time
shall come,
Within the blooming gardens realm, my quaint
old cottage home.
George L. Bowen, in Sunday Inter Ocean.