My Treasures by Cora A. Matson Dolson

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jul 27, 1916

My Treasures

By Cora A. Matson Dolson

HUSHED are the woods against the sky, In amber light the wheat fields lie, And from the barn a breath of hay Floats, as from summers far away.

Beside the border path, the phlox Blooms by the unwaked four-o'clocks; The air is still, save for a note Of warning from the tree toad's throat; And, with my folded work close by, I drink the calm of earth and sky.

Elizabeth, my one wee maid, Sleeps in her hammock in the shade, Dear little tired five-year-old, Whose pillow nests her curls of gold.

Through the net canopy I see The curving of one half-bared knee; Her rosy lips their smiling keep, A little trick of hers in sleep; And one deep dimple, in her cheek, Plays with her dreaming, hide and seek.

What wish have I, O heart of mine? This mother rapture, half divine, The dear, protecting love of home, The shelter of this simple dome Of Gothic roof whose eaves droop low, The old clock ticking staid and slow, The small-paned windows of the rooms, Now bright with red geranium blooms.

What though the world be rich and wide? With home's best treasures at my side, I have no wish, I breathe no prayer, For wealth to hoard, for silks to wear — Only to fare my way through life Content — a mother and a wife.

— Cora A. Matson Dolson.