Love In A Cottage

A cottage small be mine, with porch

Enwreathed with ivy green,
And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells,
'Mid brown old wattles seen.

And one to wait at shut of eve,

With eyes as fountain clear,
And braided hair, and simple dress,
My homeward step to hear.

On summer eves to sing old songs,

And talk o'er early vows,
While stars look down like angels' eyes
Amid the leafy boughs.

When Spring flowers peep from flossy cells,

And bright-winged parrots call,
In forest paths be ours to rove
Till purple evenings fall.

The curtains closed, by taper clear

To read some page divine,
On winter nights, the hearth beside,
Her soft, warm hand in mine.

And so to glide through busy life,

Like some small brook alone,
That winds its way 'mid grassy knolls,
Its music all its own.

Love in a Cottage ~ Daniel Henry Deniehy 1828-1865

Cottage Dreaming

The cottage homes of England/By thousands on her plains."

        ~ Felicia Hermans

The Little Home

The little house is not too small
To shelter friends who come to call.
Though low the roof and small its space
It holds the Lord's abounding grace,
And every simple room may be
Endowed with happy memory.

The little house, severely plain,
A wealth of beauty may contain.
Within it those who dwell may find
High faith which makes for peace of mind,
And that sweet understanding which
Can make the poorest cottage rich.

The little house can hold all things
From which the soul's contentment springs.
'Tis not too small for love to grow,
For all the joys that mortals know,
For mirth and song and that delight
Which make the humblest dwelling bright.

~Edgar A Guest

Love In A Cottage

A cottage small be mine, with porch

Enwreathed with ivy green,

And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells,

'Mid brown old wattles seen.

And one to wait at shut of eve,

With eyes as fountain clear,

And braided hair, and simple dress,

My homeward step to hear.

On summer eves to sing old songs,

And talk o'er early vows,

While stars look down like angels' eyes

Amid the leafy boughs.

When Spring flowers peep from flossy cells,

And bright-winged parrots call,

In forest paths be ours to rove

Till purple evenings fall.

The curtains closed, by taper clear

To read some page divine,

On winter nights, the hearth beside,

Her soft, warm hand in mine.

And so to glide through busy life,

Like some small brook alone,

That winds its way 'mid grassy knolls,

Its music all its own.

Love in a Cottage ~ Daniel Henry Deniehy 1828-1865

The Little Home

The Little Home

The little house is not too small
To shelter friends who come to call.
Though low the roof and small its space
It holds the Lord's abounding grace,
And every simple room may be
Endowed with happy memory.

The little house, severely plain,
A wealth of beauty may contain.
Within it those who dwell may find
High faith which makes for peace of mind,
And that sweet understanding which
Can make the poorest cottage rich.

The little house can hold all things
From which the soul's contentment springs.
'Tis not too small for love to grow,
For all the joys that mortals know,
For mirth and song and that delight
Which make the humblest dwelling bright.

Edgar A. Guest