Classic Poem

(PERHAPS) ADAPTED FOR MUSIC .

I N our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood,
  I am mistress, no mother have I;
Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good,
  And kind is my lover hard by;
They both work together beneath the green shade,
  Both woodmen, my father and Joe:
Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made
  So much of a laugh or—Halló.

From my basket at noon they expect their supply,
  And with joy from my threshold I spring;
For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waving high,
  And Echo that sings as I sing.
Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food,
  As I call the dear name of my Joe;
His musical shout is the pride of the wood,
  And my heart leaps to hear the—Halló,

Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease,
  I wish not to wander from you;
I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees,
  For I know that my Joe will be true.
The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove,
  Are charms that I'll never forego;
But resting through life on the bosom of love,
  Will remember the Woodland Halló.