There's a little brown road winding over the hill
To a little white cot by the sea
There's a little green gate at whose trellis I wait
While two eyes of blue come smiling through at me.
My poem for the day is by Samuel Rogers, 81763 - 1855). He is not as well known as his contemporaries, like Byron, but in his day he was quite popular. One interesting thing about him was his tour of Italy which he asked Turner to illustrate for him. When he was older he went round the villages of his childhood and wrote about his memories of them. This poem makes me think of the villages I know and of a cottage by the sea.
Mine be a cot beside the hill
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe 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 ivied 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 given
With merry peals shall swell the breeze
And point with taper spire to heaven.