Mrs. Gilman.
32. Thine be a cot beside the hill:
A beehive's hum shall sooth thine ear;
A willowy brook that turns the mill
With many a fall, shall linger near.
Rogers.
33. The dense city's roofs
Throng around thee, and the vertic' sun
Pours from those glowing tiles a fervid heat
Upon your shrinking nerves.