The Little Hut

ONE little hut is all my wealth terrene;
It stands upon a grass-rich green:
Anigh it runs one happy little stream,
As bright and silent as a dream.

In front of it one fatherly old tree
O'ershades this little hut for me,
And shelters it from Winter's rain and storm,
And Summer-suns, when over-warm.

And from the tree one darling nightingale
Pours forth so soft and sweet a wail,
That most who pass and all who linger by
Feel moved with love, they wiss not why.

Dear little maiden with the flaxen hair!
Thou knowest me fond as thou art fair;
I go: rude winds are whistling through the tree;
Wilt let me share my hut with thee?