O, to have a little house, To own the hearth and stool and all-- The heaped-up sods upon the fire, The pile of turf against the wall! To have a clock with weights and chains, And pendulum swinging up and down! A dresser filled with shining delph, Speckled and white and blue and brown! I could be busy all the day Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, And fixing on their shelf again My white and blue and speckled store. I could be quiet there at night Beside the fire and by myself, Sure of a bed, and loth to leave The ticking clock and shining delph. Och but I'm weary of mist and dark, And roads where there's never a house or bush, And tired I am of bog and road, And the crying wind and the lonesome hush: And I am praying to God on high, And I am praying Him night and day, For a little house--a house of my own-- Out of the wind's and the rain's way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TABLES TURNED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH HIS HEART, INTO A BIRD by PHILIP AYRES THE WANDERING JEW by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THREE GUESTS by ETHEL SKIPTON BARRINGER BRYANT'S BIRTHPLACE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES ASCENSION (1) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO A REDBREAST, THAT FLEW INTO A HOUSE ... by ELIZABETH BENTLEY |