Lines at the Home of Mary Mother of Washington

The walls are old, the ceiling low,
But through the window lilacs blow
A phantom fragrance, to and fro. . . . . . . . . . .

Her daughter’s house is built of stone,
But she would rather live alone
And call this little roof her own.

And so, a great tree gently shakes
Soft sunlight that an old bough breaks,
And here she sews and sweeps and bakes.

“Oh, mercy me! I most forget,
Today he brings young Lafayette
And dinner is not ready yet.”

The walls are old, the ceiling low,
But through the window lilacs blow
A phantom fragrance, to and fro. . . . . . . . . . .