Mine be a cot beside the hill,
A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivy'd porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
In russet gown and apron blue.
The village-church, among the trees,
Where first our marriage-vows were giv'n,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heav'n.
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Comments
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This was a beautiful love poem. I got this one. A man hopes his marriage works out with his wife. That's so romantic. I really liked this poem. I hope that love poetry never dies. You know, there is some poetry that isn't good, but love poetry will always be good. It means a happy feeling, no matter what kind of poem it is. It could be a dirty poem, and still you see a beautiful poem. Two people are sharing something that is only between them two.
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