This is the place that I love the best, br A little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest, br Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees, br Summer retreat of the birds and bees. br br The tenderest light that ever was seen br Sifts through the vine-made window screen-- br Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls br On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls. br br All through June the west wind free br The breath of clover brings to me. br All through the languid July day br I catch the scent of new-mown hay. br br The morning-glories and scarlet vine br Over the doorway twist and twine; br And every day, when the house is still, br The humming-bird comes to the window-sill. br br In the cunningest chamber under the sun br I sink to sleep when the day is done; br And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed, br By a singing bird on the roof o'erhead. br br Better than treasures brought from Rome, br Are the living pictures I see at home-- br My aged father, with frosted hair, br And mother's face, like a painting rare. br br Far from the city's dust and heat, br I get but sounds and odors sweet.