Alice Cary

April 26, 1820 - 1871



by Alice Cary

My house is low and small,
But behind a row of trees,
I catch the golden fall
Of the sunset in the seas;
And a stone wall hanging white
With the roses of the May,
Were less pleasant to my sight
Than the fading of to-day.
From a brook a heifer drinks
In a field of pasture ground,
With wild violets and pinks
For a border all around.

My house is small and low,
But the willow by the door
Doth a cool deep shadow throw
In the summer on my floor;
And in long and rainy nights
When the limbs of leaves are bare,
I can see the window lights
Of the homesteads otherwhere.

My house is small and low,
But with pictures such as these
Of the sunset and the row
Of illuminated trees,
And the heifer as she drinks
From the field of meadowed ground,
With the violets and pinks
For a border all around,
Let me never, foolish, pray
For a vision wider spread,
But contented, only say,
Give me, Lord, my daily bread.


Copyright 1855
Boston: Ticknor And Fields