Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple,
   And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree! 
And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan’ people,
   And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and
        see!

Le’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s Station—­
   Back where the latch-string’s a-hangin’ from the door,
And ever’ neighbor round the place is dear as a relation—­
   Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin’,
   A-drivin’ up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday
        through;
And I want to see ’em hitchin’ at their son-in-law’s and
        pilin’
Out there at ’Lizy Ellen’s like they ust to do!

I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin’;
   And I want to pester Laury ’bout their freckled hired
      hand,
And joke her ‘bout the widower she come purt’ nigh
      a-takin’,
Till her Pap got his pension ’lowed in time to save his
      land.

Le’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s Station—­
   Back where they’s nothin’ aggervatin’ any more,
Shet away safe in the woods around the old location—­
   Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see Marindy and he’p her with her sewin’,
   And hear her talk so lovin’ of her man that’s dead and
      gone,
And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he’s
      growin’,
   And smile as I have saw her ‘fore she putt her mournin’
      on.

And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty,
   Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried
      —­for
His own sake and Katy’s,—­and I want to cry with Katy
   As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War.

What’s in all this grand life and high situation,
   And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin’ at the door?—­
Le’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s Station—­
   Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE

I

Tell you what I like the best—­
   ’Long about knee-deep in June,
 ’Bout the time strawberries melts
 On the vine,—­some afternoon
Like to jes’ git out and rest,
   And not work at nothin’ else’

II

Orchard’s where I’d ruther be—­
Needn’t fence it in fer me!—­
  Jes’ the whole sky overhead,
And the whole airth underneath—­
Sorto’ so’s a man kin breathe
  Like he ort, and kindo’ has
Elbow-room to keerlessly
  Sprawl out len’thways on the grass
    Where the shadders thick and soft
  As the kivvers on the bed
    Mother fixes in the loft
Allus, when they’s company!

III