A WISH.Mine be a cot beside the hill,A bee-hive’s hum shall sooth my ear;A willowy brook, that turns a mill,With many a fall shall linger near.The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,And share my meal, a welcome guest.Around my ivy’d porch shall springEach fragrant flower that drinks the dew;And Lucy, at her wheel, shall singIn russet gown and apron blue.The village-church, among the trees,Where first our marriage-vows were giv’n,With merry peals shall swell the breeze,And point with taper spire to heav’n.
Mine be a cot beside the hill,A bee-hive’s hum shall sooth my ear;A willowy brook, that turns a mill,With many a fall shall linger near.The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,And share my meal, a welcome guest.Around my ivy’d porch shall springEach fragrant flower that drinks the dew;And Lucy, at her wheel, shall singIn russet gown and apron blue.The village-church, among the trees,Where first our marriage-vows were giv’n,With merry peals shall swell the breeze,And point with taper spire to heav’n.