Classic Poem

O man of my heart, I have asked this of God,
A little white house that faces the sun
And yourself to be coming in from the fields
When the day's work is done.

I have told it to God, the wish of my soul,
The little white house at the butt of the hill,
With a handful of land and some grass where the goat
Could be eating her fill.

White walls and nasturtiums, the yellow and red
Climbing upwards to cling to the straw of the thatch,
And a speckledy hen with a dozen fine eggs
That she's wishful to hatch.

The two of us there by the side of the hearth
And the dark lonesome night creeping up to the door,
Your smile and your handclasp, oh! man of my heart —
I am asking no more.