My Mother’s Great Front-Room Bed

                      I.

O, the tiresome sound of the city’ round

     When I am so ill I dread;

I long for the calm of the dear old farm,

     And mother’s great front-room bed.

No sound is there on the soft still air,

     But the restful song of birds;

And the twilight spells of the twinkling bells,

     On the far-off lowing herds.

                      II.

Through the windows low I could watch them mow,

     Or list to the summer showers;

I could drink from the spring where the dark ferns cling,

     Or sniff of the fresh cut flowers.

O, the city’s bright, but its noise and light,

     When I am so ill I dread;

So I long for the calm of the dear old farm,

     And mother’s great front-room bed.

May 5, 1895

Pub. in

Conn. Valley

Advertiser,

May 17, 1895