Literary Gazette, 8th May, 1824, Page 299
THE POET'S RETREAT.
Oh! not in stately halls, or gilded rooms,
Or crowded city, would I dwell with thee!
But in a lowly cottage, not so high
But that the jessamine could reach the roof,
And in a lonely valley, paint thee, love!
A small white dwelling, in a paradise
Of many-coloured flowers: at the door
Should be a little porch of honeysuckle;
The lattices should have no other blinds
Than branches of red roses. In the room
A lute be placed, whose music should be heard
Together with the woodlark's evening song;
Fresh flowers in green rush baskets; and some books,
O'er which the Spirit of sweet Poesy
Had shed his soul of beauty and of passion;
And landscapes on the walls—landscapes that gave
The skies of other nations—rock, and storm,
And mountain-torrent—and black woods, where dwell
The dark banditti; so that we might prize
Still more the quiet of our own calm home.
Our garden should be beautiful—but ours
The only hands that made it beautiful.
We would be proud of it. Our crocuses
(Those golden promisers of April's wealth)
Should be the first in Spring, and ours the rose
That bloomed the last in autumn. In the shade
Of an old ash, whose boughs hung o'er a bed
Of purple violets, we'd place our hive
