Rowan-Tree Cottage. “The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There, woman’s voice flows forth in song Or childhood’s tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.” Mrs Hemans. “You’re my Maggie May, aren’t you?” There was a murmured “Yes,” and a tired and weary wee head was laid to rest on my shoulder
Rowan-Tree Cottage. “The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There, woman’s voice flows forth in song Or childhood’s tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.” Mrs Hemans. “You’re my Maggie May, aren’t you?” There was a murmured “Yes,” and a tired and weary wee head was laid to rest on my shoulder