368 A COTTAGE.
In a bed that trundled under One of wide and higher frame,
In the corner bed-room yonder, I have slept and waked again,
With a sense of dewy sweetness Flooding all my drowsy brain.
��Sometimes morning dreams were shattered
By a wet touch on my face — Dew and blossoms o'er me scattered
Roused me from my resting place, While a laugh came through the window
Where the branches interlace.
��Did the roses bloom all summer In that lovely far off time ?
Did the breezes ever murmur, Like low sentences that rhyme ?
Ah ! no thorn, no blight, no blemish Mar these memories of mine.
��Many useful lessons taught me, In that cottage snug and small,
To the changing years have brought me, Help that I shall oft' recall ;
But the memory of the roses Clings the closest of them all.
�� �
