The Little House
R
Roderic Quinn
0
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WHEN my heart goes a-roving
'Tis the wide ways for me,
And the fields, and the hills,
And the big, blue sea.
Then 'tis far, far I wander,
And 'tis little that you care,
With your wiles, and your smiles,
And your eyes and hair.
But the dream of you follows,
Or it gleams at my side;
And I turn, turn about,
For the world seems wide.
There's a rose-mist about you
And 'tis sweet, sweet you are,
With your throat and your cheeks
And your face a star.
When my heart comes a-homing
'Tis the little house I see,
Where you sit all alone
With a stool for me.
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