Explore "Her Title-Deeds" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
INSIDE the cottage door she sits, / Just where the sunlight, softest there, / Slants down on snowy kerchief's bands, / On folded hands and silvered hair.
The garden pale her world shuts in, / A simple world made sweet with thyme, / Where life, soft lulled by droning bees, / Flows to the mill-stream's lapsing rhyme.
Poor are her cottage walls, and bare; / Too mean and small to harbor pride, / Yet with a musing gaze she sees / Her broad domains extending wide.
Green slopes of hills, and waving fields, / With blooming hedges set between, / Through shifting veils of tender mist, / Smile, half revealed, a mingled scene.
All hers, for lovingly she holds / A yellow packet in her hand, / Whose ancient, faded script proclaims / Her title to this spreading land.
Old letters! On the trembling page / Drop unawares, unheeded tears.
These are her title-deeds, her lands / Spread through the realms of by-gone years.