My Cot
I own a dainty little cot
Begirt about with roses,
Standing in a shady spot
Amid most verdant closes.
The door was bolted, locked and barred,
All entrance was denied there,
They vainly sought to force the ward
Who tried before I tried there.
They tried with gold and silver keys,
With vows and protestations,
They summoned every art to please,
Exotics of all nations.
Then others with a diamond tried
To cut the window pane,
But still the entrance was denied,
Their labour was in vain.
The house, to whom did it belong,
And I possession win?
I breathed myself into a song,
And so I entered in.