A cottage small be mine, with porch <br />Enwreathed with ivy green, <br />And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells, <br />’Mid brown old wattles seen. <br /> <br />And one to wait at shut of eve, <br />With eyes as fountain clear, <br />And braided hair, and simple dress, <br />My homeward step to hear. <br /> <br />On summer eves to sing old songs, <br />And talk o’er early vows, <br />While stars look down like angels’ eyes <br />Amid the leafy boughs. <br /> <br />When Spring flowers peep from flossy cells, <br />And bright-winged parrots call, <br />In forest paths be ours to rove <br />Till purple evenings fall. <br /> <br />The curtains closed, by taper clear <br />To read some page divine, <br />On winter nights, the hearth beside, <br />Her soft, warm hand in mine. <br /> <br />And so to glide through busy life, <br />Like some small brook alone <br />That winds its way ’mid grassy knolls, <br />Its music all its own.<br /><br />Daniel Henry Deniehy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/amans-amare/
