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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117564" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Cottage Home</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My cottage home! my cottage home!<br>How beautiful it lies,<br>Amid its quiet loveliness,<br>Beneath our bright blue skies.<br>A stranger's eye might mark it not,<br>Nor deem that it was fair;—<br>To me it is a lovely spot,<br>For those I love are there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In summer there are wild flowers round,<br>And the tall forest weaves<br>A drapery of light and shade,<br>With its green and pleasant leaves;<br>And thousand birds are pouring out,<br>To the gay and singing breeze,<br>From the wild joys of their leaping hearts,<br>A thousand melodies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shadowing of an oak's green boughs<br>Is flung the low roof o'er;<br>And clambering vines their blossoms hang<br>About the open door.<br>And round the harvest's ripening wealth<br>Waves in its yellow light;<br>And the feathery tassels of the maize<br>Bend gracefully and slight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But were it thousand times more fair—<br>If o'er the fertile soil<br>Oppression shook her manacles,<br>And scourged the slave to toil—<br>To me the rudest desert wild<br>Were better for my home,<br>So never on its arid breeze<br>The voice of wrong might come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But round my home, my cottage home,<br>The tyrant never treads,<br>And o'er the field's luxuriant wealth<br>No slave his sad tear sheds.<br>And were it not that I have learn'd<br>In other scenes to know<br>Of deeds of cruelty and wrong,<br>And of the oppress'd ones’ woe—<br>And were it not that still a tale<br>Is wafted on the air,<br>Telling of fearful injuries,<br>And anguish and despair;<br>I might, perchance, almost forget<br>The guilt and wrongs of earth,<br>And deem that brightness gleam'd, alone,<br>Around the household hearth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But woe for man's dark cruelty!<br>His selfishness and pride!<br>For him the earth is drench'd with tears,<br>With human life-blood dyed.<br>In his own freedom glorying,<br>He lifts his voice on high,<br>While on his brother's shrinking form<br>His crushing fetters lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117564" data-title="My Cottage Home de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="My cottage home! my cottage home!/How beautiful it lies,/Amid its quiet loveliness,/Beneath our bright blue skies./A stranger's eye might mark it not,/Nor deem that it was fair;—/To me it is a lovely spot,/For those I love are there./In summer t..."></div>
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