The Hazel Green herald. [volume] (Hazel Green, Wolfe County, Ky.) 1885-19??, 1892-07-22
WHERE ! WOULD RATHER LIVE


OF 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 o bit like modern style, its paint Is
faded gray;
It's window panes are small and wry, and
climbing roses play
At hide and seek upon the walls, ana In the
easement wide
Where sunbeams stroke with soothing touch
two kittens side by side.
rhe sloping roof quiet green has gathered
with the years,
And at the end, piled stone on stone, chimney
wide appears
There's such messy old brick walk leads from
the unhinged gate
Through rows OF pinks and migonettc, and
"pineys" robed in state;
The lilacs nod their purple plumes TO apple
blossoms pink,
And hollyhocks beside the fence the early dew
drops drink-
A mother hen with downy brood is scratching
by the well
In new pressed beds of whose smooth form
there's nothing left TO tell
The wide piazza's ourtained with cool vines
whose trumpets sing
A honeyed song TO humming birds and bees on
listening wing
How often In their fragrant shade concealed
from strife and 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
Ali what confusion sometimes reigns as with
their happy play
Dear "pitty-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
there again
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 q cobweb on the wall-it softened
every tone
AS wires TO aid acoustics do--each echo sweeter
grown
o, what delight the children find in their wee
butterfly
The lamps don't always burn, It's true, but
there's another light
That mellows every shade OF gloom-love's
cleaning, soft and bright
No ceremony stif repels the visitor-or me,
And kindly hands will ever stop 70 make "cuI
o. tea
What tho the broom has gone astray or stitches
lose their place
Tho simple meals are seasoned with tn,
sweetest kind OF grace,
What tho the carpets worn TO rags, or dool
knobs out OF style
Affection glows upon the hearth, LIES lighted
with a smile
Then let me live, and let me die, II must die a
ALL
Where every Joy and every pain that to NOR
tai fall
Are blended with devoted love, affection warn
and sweet;
Where there's enough OF honest care TO maxi
ones rest completes;
Where summers flied with fragrant bloom ant
winters bright and cheer,
That touch each day with fond caress and max
existence dear;
Where nesting birds contented sing, as through
the elm tree old
The sun beams play with shadows sliding dow
their bars OF gold;
Where some one always fills my pipe and, II
the twilight glow
Brings gown and slippers with kiss dearl
love TO know;
Where SORROWS melt within the light OF SYN
patty, and care
Becomes q pastime In the hands my jewel
sweety wear
Rare diamonds OF constancy, rich rubies flash
ing love, t...
Deep sapphires OF faith, and pearls OF kindnes
from above.
Yes, give me gentle peace that's proved by ieet
ing signs OF strife;
Tho melody of Home, Sweet Home" sung b
dear babes and wife.
q, let me live and let me die, when e'er the tim
shall come,
Within the blooming gardens realm my quain
old cottage home.
George r. Bowen, In Sunday Inter Ocean.
THE RUNAWAY.