“OH! THAT A LITTLE COT WERE MINE!”
Reading edition
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BY ROBERT F. GREELY.
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Oh! that a little cot were mine,
Far down some gentle vale,
Where golden sunbeams ever shine,
And softly blows the gale.
No idle strife should break the spell
About its precincts thrown—
But peace and love should ever dwell
Within its shades, alone!
A streamlet should meander by
My humble cottage door,
Whose snow-white walls with many a vine
And shrub should be run o’er;
And there should be a little grot,
Half hidden from the view
By clust’ring leaves, and fragrant shrubs,
And flowers of every hue!
And, when the sun too brightly shone,
I’d seek its quiet shade,
To listen to the birds’ lithe song—
The music of the glade.
Or when, at eve, the crystal moon
Streamed down o’er bed and bower,
I’d take my lute, and with a song
Beguile the passing hour.
With one beloved and cherished form
To share my heart’s deep bliss,
I’d dwell contentedly, nor long
For greater happiness;
And when “Old Father Death” should come
To summon us away,
Together we would droop, and die—
Like flowers at close of day!