Explore "The Old Farm" by O. Henry on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Just now when the whitening blossoms flare. / On the apple trees, and the growing grass / Creeps forth, and a balm is in the air; / With my lighted pipe and well-filled glass / Of the old farm I am dreaming, / And softly smiling, seeming / To see the bright sun beaming / Upon the old home farm.
And when I think how we milked the cows, / And hauled the hay from the meadows low, / And walked the furrows behind the plows, / And chapped the cotton to make it grow, / I'd much rather be here dreaming, / And, smiling, only seeming / To see that hot sun beaming / Upon the old home farm.