Mine be a cot beside the hill;

A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;

A willowy brook that turns a mill,

With many a fall, shall linger near.

Samuel Rogers (1763-1855): A Wish.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down,

Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,

With here and there a violet bestrewn,

Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;

And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!

James Beattie (1735-1803): The Minstrel. Book ii. Stanza 17.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine,

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

They sought a faith's pure shrine.

John Keble (1792-1866): Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

And sweeten'd every musk-rose of the dale.

John Milton (1608-1674): Comus. Line 496.

What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.