Sure, the little house is tumblin' now: Ay, tumblin' ev'ry day; But my own wee lad is makin' goold Far out beyont the say; An' the little lad is growin' fast— Is growin' brave an' tall; Och! if only I could see him wanst— Jist wanst before the fall! Will he never quit his askin' now, How things does be wid me! "How's the wee heifers doin' at all?" "An' how's the hawthorn-tree?" The flittin' 'ill be on Monday first, From th' oul' house to the new! I's terrible bad, the neighbors say— The docthor knows it too. Sure, the little house is fallin' fast— Ay, fallin' all aroun';— The heifers is sold to Dan Magee To pay my keep in town; Thon hawthorn all, is wither'd now, I'll never see it bloom, For God in Heav'n is waitin' on me— An' knows I'm comin' soon! But my own wee lad is earnin' goold, Far out beyont the say; An' he bees thinkin' I'm mendin' now— Happy in troth the day! Och! the little home is broken up;— To quit it now is sore; But God, I know, 'ill see me through, As I shuts th' oul' brown door! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A MAGAZINE SONNET by RUSSELL HILLARD LOINES THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR REVEL by ABUL HASAN OF SANTA MARIA THE TRANSFORMATION OF A TEXAS GIRL by JAMES BARTON ADAMS PRAIRIE MUSIC by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER HAUNTED by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |