And there a cottage from a sylvan screen
Sent up a curling smoke amidst the green.
Around that hermit home of quietude
The elm trees whispered with the summer air,
And nothing ever ventured to intrude
But happy birds that caroled wildly there,
Or honey-laden harvesters that flew
Humming away to drink the morning dew.
Around the door the honey-suckle climbed
And Multa-flora spread her countless roses,