Poets may praise a wattle thatch <br />Doubtfully waterproof; <br />Let me uplift my lowly latch <br />Beneath a rose-tiled roof. <br />Let it be gay and rich in hue, <br />Soft bleached by burning days, <br />Where skies ineffably are blue, <br />And seas a golden glaze. <br /> <br />But set me in the surly North <br />Beneath a roof of slate, <br />And as I sourly sally forth <br />My heart will hum with hate; <br />And I will brood beneath a pine <br />Where Nature seldom smiles, <br />Heart-longing for a starry vine <br />And roof of ruddy tiles. <br /> <br />For oh the South's a bonny clime <br />And sunshine is its life; <br />So there I'll finish up my time <br />A stranger unto strife. <br />And smoke my pipe and sit aloof <br />From care by miles and miles, <br />Sagaciously beneath a roof, <br />Geranium-gay and panic proof, <br />Of ruby tinted tiles.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/red-tiled-roof/
