Mine be a cot beside the hill, <br />A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear; <br />A willowy brook, that turns a mill, <br />With many a fall shall linger near. <br /> <br />The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, <br />Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; <br />Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, <br />And share my meal, a welcome guest. <br /> <br />Around my ivy'd porch shall spring <br />Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; <br />And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing <br />In russet gown and apron blue. <br /> <br />The village-church, among the trees, <br />Where first our marriage-vows were giv'n, <br />With merry peals shall swell the breeze, <br />And point with taper spire to heav'n.<br /><br />Samuel Rogers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-wish-57/
