. The Ladies' home journal. ross the bay,A house with pepper dots inrows for windowsIs only the next narrow fieldaway. A church too far for a church-goer of fiftyIs close enough for a short-legged one of three,All the houses in a steep highharborAre ivory dice spilled downinto the sea. The world is under waterlessdeep waterThat shines above a sunlitboiling spring, And if you flicked the blue skywith your finger,The blue sky from the east towest would ring. But the old fisherman shrugshis high shoulders:This is a weather breedernow for fair!He is sure the morning is sopleasantIt means theres so

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. The Ladies' home journal. ross the bay,A house with pepper dots inrows for windowsIs only the next narrow fieldaway. A church too far for a church-goer of fiftyIs close enough for a short-legged one of three,All the houses in a steep highharborAre ivory dice spilled downinto the sea. The world is under waterlessdeep waterThat shines above a sunlitboiling spring, And if you flicked the blue skywith your finger,The blue sky from the east towest would ring. But the old fisherman shrugshis high shoulders:This is a weather breedernow for fair!He is sure the morning is sopleasantIt means theres somethingdangerous in the air. He seems to be so dyed-in-the-wool New EnglandHe is bound to set sweet offby sour,Its like the tough New Englandbrier roses—Fifty wicked fishhooks to oneflower. Next morning comes in thickwith squalls, wild horsesAre coming white from seawith manes uncurled,And on the misty headlands thelow briersAre starred with the loveliestblossoms of the world. • •••••**••••••••. ;*4fA «&>*£ OuJ ,?*<*P ^\\b

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidladieshomejourna65janwyet