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You Must Leave the Old Frame House

You Must Leave the Old Frame House Barbara Deatherage Appalachian Heritage, Volume 14, Number 1, Winter 1986, p. 24 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1986.0076 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/440297/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 22:37 GMT from JHU Libraries YOU MUST LEAVE THE OLD FRAME HOUSE Its timbers rotting, its stone rest cracking. You must leave it behind and not dwell On yesterday. You are a child no more; Do not rest on past remembrances. Do not take your food from depleted gardens Nor drink from stagnant wells. The breezes of that valley will not cool you now; The richness of that feast will not sustain you. The hands which wearied and worked and loved for you— They are gone; they are exhausted From the harvest of winter corn And the unyielding demands of spring and summer. They laid up for you sufficient stores For the lean winters, And fed you with sound food, And clothed you decently, And kept you learning, And even added a song to make the night-time seem Less fearsome, the storm a fleeting enemy, And gave you of their own immortal values. They have sung and laughed and wept And you did http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

You Must Leave the Old Frame House

Deatherage, Barbara.
Appalachian Review , Volume 14 (1) – Jan 8, 2014
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University of North Carolina Press
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Copyright © Berea College
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2692-9244
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Abstract

Barbara Deatherage Appalachian Heritage, Volume 14, Number 1, Winter 1986, p. 24 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1986.0076 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/440297/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 22:37 GMT from JHU Libraries YOU MUST LEAVE THE OLD FRAME HOUSE Its timbers rotting, its stone rest cracking. You must leave it behind and not dwell On yesterday. You are a child no more; Do not rest on past remembrances. Do not take your food from depleted gardens Nor drink from stagnant wells. The breezes of that valley will not cool you now; The richness of that feast will not sustain you. The hands which wearied and worked and loved for you— They are gone; they are exhausted From the harvest of winter corn And the unyielding demands of spring and summer. They laid up for you sufficient stores For the lean winters, And fed you with sound food, And clothed you decently, And kept you learning, And even added a song to make the night-time seem Less fearsome, the storm a fleeting enemy, And gave you of their own immortal values. They have sung and laughed and wept And you did

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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