"Mine be a cot," for the hours of play,
Of the kind that is built by MISS GREENAWAY;
Where the walls are low, and the roofs are red,
And the birds are gay in the blue o'erhead;
And the dear little figures, in frocks and frills,
Go roaming about at their own sweet wills,
And "play with the pups," and "reprove the calves,"
And do nought in the world (but Work) by halves,
From "Hunt the Slipper" and "Riddle-me-ree"
To watching the cat in the apple-tree.
O Art of the Household! Men may prate
Of their ways "intense" and Italianate,--
They may soar on their wings of sense, and float
To the au delà and the dim remote,--
Till the last sun sink in the last-lit West,
'Tis the Art at the Door that will please the best;
To the end of Time 'twill be still the same,
For the Earth first laughed when the children came!