Poem by Grace Noll Crowell, 1935

Poem by Grace Noll Crowell in the June, 1935, issue of Carolina Co-operator

She had so little in her house

Of that which money buys,

Plain things they are, but Oh, she is

Strangely beauty-wise;

She hides the old worn wood of chairs

With bright paint, smoothly spread;

Her table is an orange flame;

And dull blue is her bed.

Her small yard yields for love of her,

Her little orchard bends

Beneath its gold and scarlet fruit;

The birds are all her friends.

She brings armloads of beauty in

To brighten every room;

A bowl of fruit, light-spangled here,

And there a mass of bloom.

And her small house is lovelier

With God’s paint, and her own,

Than almost any other house

That I have ever known.

                                --Grace Noll Crowell