Classic Poem

O S HOTTERY , dear Shottery!
Sequester'd in the dell,
Far-famed for sweet Anne Hathaway,
I feel I love thee well.
For thou hast hedges like my own,
With little nooks of green.
Where primroses smile out in spring,
With violets between.

O Shottery, dear Shottery!
I oft have thought of thee,
When reading Shakspere in my youth
Under the hawthorn tree.
Nor did I dream in those joy-days
To see thee with mine eye,
And tread thy ever-hallow'd ground
Under the bluest sky.

O Shottery, dear Shottery!
Thy cottage by the lane,
Where Anne watch'd oft for singing Will
Beside the Gothic pane;
The garden-gate, the courting-seat,
The chimney, bed, and door,
The walls, three hundred years of age,
Are with me evermore.

O Shottery, dear Shottery!
The breeze that pass'd along
Was full of sweetest melody,
And every breath was song.
The children playing in the lane,
The sheep upon the lea,
The very stones, the grass, and earth,
Were beautiful to me.

O Shottery, dear Shottery!
From out the well drank I,
Where Shakspere oft has slaked his thirst
When Anne was standing by,—
The well within the garden-ground
Where hide the wicked fays;
And O what comic tales it told
Of Willie's courting-days!

O Shottery, dear Shottery!
I may forget the mine
Where I did labour in the dark,
Till nearly thirty-nine;
But I can never lose thy face,
'T is evermore with me;
For thou art like a little child
I've dandled on my knee.