My Nest.
My lodging was on the cold rough ground,
And my pillow a rocky shelf;
And the Poet's Corner was full of dust,
And bits of stick and dead leaves, just
An emblem of myself!
But lo! I find that some little birds,
With busy beak and wing,
Have made for me a cosy nest,
The very sort that I like best,
Where I can lie in pleasant rest,
And twitter, if not sing!
And the Poet's Corner is swept so clean,
And made so nice and neat,
That really I should feel quite rude,
If I don't, in common gratitude,
Produce some verses on the spot,
And pour them out all fresh and hot,
For my little birds so sweet.
