Such an house I'll build and own,

When into old contentment grown

With reaping what my youth has sown.

The drooping roof be low and wide,

Curved like a seashell's inner side;

Let vines the patient pillars hide

Of that deep porch and ample shade;

There let no hurrying step invade,

Troubled or anxious or afraid.

I pray that birches very white

May stand athwart the woods at night,

Sweet and slim by late moonlight;

And I desire a beech may be

Not far away from mine and me,

Strong, pure, serene, and matronly;

An oak outspread in ample space,

Strength out of storms met face to face,

In his male girth and wide embrace.

Lest all the years go by in vain

Let the wind only and the rain

Paint my four walls with weather stain,

Nor phantom youth be ever there;

Of time's significance aware,

Time's grey insignia let them bear.

A brook before shall glide along,

And where its narrow waters throng

Make bubble music and low song.

A garden on the rearward side

Shall hold some flowers of civil pride,

And some in meekness dignified.

Within my house all men may see

How goodly four-square beams may be,

How unashamed in honesty.

There shall my day to evening creep,

Though downward, yet, as rivers sweep

By winding ways to the great deep.