Here you will find the Poem Anne Hathaway's Cottage of poet Mathilde Blind
IS this the Cottage, ivy-girt and crowned, And this the path down which our Shakespeare ran, When, in the April of his love, sweet Anne Made all his mighty pulses throb and bound; Where, mid coy buds and winking flowers around, She blushed a rarer rose than roses can, To greet her Will--even Him, fair Avon's Swan-- Whose name has turned this plot to holy ground! To these dear walls, once dear to Shakespeare's eyes, Time's Vandal hand itself has done no wrong; This nestling lattice opened to his song, When, with the lark, he bade his love arise In words whose strong enchantment never dies-- Old as these flowers, and, like them, ever young.
