Swinging on the Grapevine Swing

The Grapevine Swing

When I was a boy on the old plantation,

Down by the deep bayou:

The fairest spot of all creation

Under the arching blue:

When the wind came over the cotton and corn,

To the long slim loop I'd spring

With brown feet bare, and a hat brim torn,

And swing on the grapevine swing.

Swinging in the grapevine swing,

Laughing where the wild birds sing,

I dream and sigh

For the days gone by,

Swinging in the grapevine swing.

Out: o'er the water lilies bonny and bright,

Back: to the moss-green trees;

I shouted and laughed with a heart as light

As a wild rose tossed by the breeze.

The mocking bird joined in my reckless glee;

I longed for no angel's wing;

I was just as near heaven as I wanted to be,

Swinging in the grapevine swing.

Swinging in the grapevine swing,

Laughing where the wild birds sing:

Oh, to be a boy,

With a heart full of joy,

Swinging in the grapevine swing!

I'm weary at noon, I'm weary at night,

I'm fretted and sore at heart,

And care is sowing my locks with white

As I wend through the fevered mart.

I'm tired of the world with it's pride and pomp,

And fame seems a worthless thing.

Id barter it all for one day's romp,

And a swing in the grapevine swing.

Swinging in the grapevine swing,

Laughing where the wild birds sing:

I would I were away

From the world today,

Swinging in the grapevine swing.

by Samuel Minturn Peck