[Jhome-users] O by the prairies your childhood's joys have s

[Dodson <rem...@ou...>]

Se goodies cookin'? Can't you see 'em? Where's your eyes? Tell that
rooster there that's crowin', Cute folks now are keepin' mum; _They_
don't show how fat they 're growin' When they know November's come.
'Member when you tried ter lick me? Yes, you did, and hurt me, too!
Thought't was big ter chase and pick me,-- Well, I'll soon be pickin'
you. Oh, I know you 're big and hearty, So you needn't strut and drum,--
Better make your will out, smarty, 'Cause, you know, November's come.
"Gobble! gobble!" oh, no matter! Pretty quick you'll change your tune;
You'll be dead and in a platter, And _I'll_ gobble pretty soon. 'F I was
you I'd stop my puffin', And I'd look most awful glum;-- Hope they give
you lots of stuffin'! _Ain't_ you glad November's come? * * * * * THE
WINTER NIGHTS AT HOME A stretch of hill and valley, swathed thick in
robes of white, The buildings blots of blackness, the windows gems of
light, A moon, now clear, now hidden, as in its headlong race The north
wind drags the cloud-wrack in tatters o'er its face; Mailed twigs that
click and clatter upon the tossing tree, And, like a giant's chanting,
the deep voice of the sea, As 'mid the stranded ice-cakes the bursting
breakers foam,-- The old familiar picture--a winter night at home. The
old familiar picture--the firelight rich and red, The lamplight soft and
mellow, the shadowed beams o'erhead; And father with his paper, and
mother, calm and sweet, Mending the red yarn stockings stubbed through
by careless feet. The little attic bedroom, the window 'neath the eaves,
Decked by the Frost King's brushes with silvered sprays and leaves; The
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