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By Padraic Colum

Oh, to have a little house,

To own the hearth and stool and all—

The heaped-up sods upon the fire,

The pile of turf against the wall!

To have a clock with weights and chains,

And pendulum swinging up and down!

A dresser filled with shining delph,

Speckled and white and blue and brown!

I could be busy all the day

Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,

And fixing on their shelf again

My white and blue speckled store.

I could be quiet there at night

Beside the fire and by myself,

Sure of a bed, and loth to leave

The ticking clock and shining delph.

Och! but I’m weary of mist and dark,

And roads where there’s never a house or bush,

And tired I am of bog and road,

And the crying wind and the lonesome hush.

And I am praying to God on high,

And I am praying Him night and day,

For a little house—a house of my own—

Out of the wind’s and the rain’s way.