The castle I love is not set on a hill,

No flag from its turret waves,

No water flows in its outer moat,

Nor its rock foundation laves.

My castle is old and its doors flap loose,

As though wringing in grief its hands,—

Out by the wall, near the cherry trees,

The barn of my childhood stands!

Empty the mows where from robbers fierce,

We hid in the days gone by,

Vacant the stall where Old Dolly stood,

And watched as we played “I-spy!”

Down in the bay only cobwebs now,—

To my child eyes once so deep,

Where secure from escape our prisoners found

Themselves in that dungeon-keep!

Sometimes on the clean-swept floor we spread

Our feasts (’twas baronial hall)

Of meats and wines from far over the seas,—

Bread and water composed them all!

But never did lord or lady show

Disrespect to the loyal host,

By a look that the board did not heavily groan

With all dainties the world could boast.

A heartless echo now only sounds

From rafter back to sill,

When I call as I did—was it yesterday?—

To Rachel and Tom and Will.

It seems that each beam sadly sighs with me

For the days we were wont to play,

Safe from temptation (you guarded us well,

Old barn,) on the new-mown hay!