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Home  »  The Second Book of Modern Verse  »  Our Little House

Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.

Our Little House

OUR little house upon the hill

In winter time is strangely still;

The roof tree, bare of leaves, stands high,

A candelabrum for the sky,

And down below the lamplights glow,

And ours makes answer o’er the snow.

Our little house upon the hill

In summer time strange voices fill;

With ceaseless rustle of the leaves,

And birds that twitter in the eaves,

And all the vines entangled so

The village lights no longer show.

Our little house upon the hill

Is just the house of Jack and Jill,

And whether showing or unseen,

Hid behind its leafy screen;

There’s a star that points it out

When the lamp lights are in doubt.