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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409229" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ancestral Dwelling</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America,<br>Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal splendour;<br>These are the homes that were built by the brave beginners of a nation,<br>They are simple enough to be great, and full of a friendly dignity. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I love the old white farmhouses nestled in New England valleys,<br>Ample and long and low, with elm-trees feathering over them:<br>Borders of box in the yard, and lilacs, and old-fashioned Howers,<br>A fan-light above the door, and little square panes in the windows,<br>The wood-shed piled with maple and birch and hickory ready for winter,<br>The gambrel-roof with its garret crowded with household relics, --<br>All the tokens of prudent thrift and the spirit of self-reliance. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I love the look of the shingled houses that front the ocean;<br>Their backs are bowed, and their lichened sides are weather-beaten;<br>Soft in their colour as grey pearls, they are full of patience and courage.<br>They seem to grow out of the rocks, there is something indomitable about them:<br>Facing the briny wind in a lonely land they stand undaunted,<br>While the thin blue line of smoke from the square-built chimney rises,<br>Telling of shelter for man, with room for a hearth and a cradle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I love the stately southern mansions with their tall white columns,<br>They look through avenues of trees, over fields where the cotton is growing;<br>I can see the flutter of white frocks along their shady porches,<br>Music and laughter float from the windows, the yards are full of hounds and horses.<br>They have all ridden away, yet the houses have not forgotten,<br>They are proud of their name and place, and their doors are always open,<br>For the thing they remember best is the pride of their ancient hospitality. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the towns I love the discreet and tranquil Quaker dwellings,<br>With their demure brick faces and immaculate white-stone doorsteps;<br>And the gabled houses of the Dutch, with their high stoops and iron railings,<br>(I can see their little brass knobs shining in the morning sunlight);<br>And the solid houses of the descendants of the Puritans,<br>Fronting the street with their narrow doors and dormer-windows;<br>And the triple-galleried, many-pillared mansions of Charleston,<br>Standing sideways in their gardens full of roses and magnolias. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, they are all dear to my heart, and in my eyes they are beautiful;<br>For under their roofs were nourished the thoughts that have made the nation;<br>The glory and strength of America came from her ancestral dwellings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Van+Dyke">Henry Van Dyke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409229" data-title="The Ancestral Dwelling de Henry Van Dyke" data-description="Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America,
Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal splendour;
These are the homes that were built by the brave beginners of a nation,
They are simple enough to be great, and full of a frien..."></div>
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