Oh, had I but a plot of earth, on plain or vale or hill,
With running water babbling through, in torrent, spring, or rill,

I'd plant a tree, an olive or an oak or willow-tree,
And build a roof of thatch, or tile, or reed, for mine and me.

Upon my tree a nest of moss, or down, or wool, should hold
A songster—finch or thrush or blackbird with its bill of gold;
Beneath my roof a child, with brown or blond or chestnut hair,
Should find in hammock, cradle or crib a nest, and slumber there.

I ask for but a little plot; to measure my domain,
I'd say to Babs, my bairn of bliss, “Go, alderliefest wean,

“And stand against the rising sun; your shadow on the grass
Shall trace the limits of my world; beyond I shall not pass.

“The happiness one can't attain is dream and glamour-shine!”

These rhymes are Soulary's; the thoughts are Babs's thoughts and mine.