To the Little House
Dear little house, dear shabby street, Dear books and beds and food to eat! How feeble words are to express The facets of your tenderness. How white the sun comes through the pane! In tinkling music drips the rain! How burning bright the furnace glows! What paths to shovel when it snows! O dearly loved Long Island trains! O well remembered joys and pains.... How near the housetops Beauty leans Along that little street in Queens! Let these poor rhymes abide for proof Joy dwells beneath a humble roof; Heaven is not built of country seats But little queer suburban streets!
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