• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Love In A Cot

    Fame cannot tempt me up its ladder; `
    I scorn the wreaths of Honour’s brow;
    Gold has no power to make me gladder
    Than I am now.
    For I have found the prize of prizes;
    The boon that can’t be sold or bought.
    I taste on earth what paradise is –
    Love in a cot.

    Search deep, ye dry and solemn sages!
    Rush fast, ye crowds! At Mammon’s call;
    Ambition! Climb’ and win your wages –
    A final fall.
    But I’ll not climb, nor search, nor hurry;
    For I have found the key of bliss –
    The cure of care and pain and worry –
    True love it is.

    Our cot is humble; you may reckon
    No bankers know that we exist;
    No jewels has my love her neck on,
    Or breast or wrist.
    But we have found the rarest jewel –
    A gem that can’t be sold or bought;
    A happy fireside’s precious fuel –
    Love in a cot.