Classic Poem

If I had a little house
A white house on a hill,
With lavender and rosemary
Beneath the window sill,
The door should stand wide open
To people of good will.

So if you sought my welcome
Upon an Autumn night
You'd smell the goodly turf smoke
And see the firelight,
And two wax tapers ready
To make my table bright.

The kettle should be singing,
A white cloth fairly spread,
With butter from the dun cow
And brown and soda bread,
A little crock of honey
From bees full heather fed.

There'd be no sound to startle
Except the white owl's call,
But a noise of tumbling water
Beneath the old mill fall,
A little stir of larches
Beyond the garden wall.

Then you should draw your chair up
Before my friendly fire,
And watch me light the candles,
Each flame a golden spire,
And see the kind brown tea-pot
Brew tea for your desire.

The homely feast partaken,
The gay delph rinsed and dried,
I'd leave the window open
To evening starry-eyed,
A little glowing window
For lonely ones outside.

Then I would tell you stories
Of haunted hill and glen,
Of Thievish, Shee, and Pooka
Who showed themselves to men,
You'd ask me, as a child does,
“And so what happened then?”

A little while you'd listen,
A little while I'd tell
Old legends of the country,
Of rath and holy well,
And you should hearken wide-eyed
Like one caught in a spell.

If I had a little house—
But none have I,—so look!
That you might share them with me
These dreamland tales I took
From firelight and moonlight
And made for you this book.