A Thought for the Time. 213 A THOUGHT FOR THE TIME. In a drear-nighted December, Thy branches ne'er remember The north cannot undo them In a drear-nighted December, But with a sweet forgetting, Never, never petting About the frozen time. Ah! would't were so with many A gentle girl and boy! But were there ever any To know the change and feel it, John Keats. BALLADE OF THE WINTER FIRESIDE. An ingle-blaze and a steaming jug; For the kettle sings on the blackened hook, What though the traveller toil and tug What though i' the churchyard graves be dug; A hearth, and a careful cook, And cares may go or come! For the kettle sings on the blackened hook, But-curtains down and an elbow hug; A boy to carry a rimy log From over the frozen brook And, a fig for the cawing rook, Or ghosts in the ruddy gloam! For the kettle sings on the blackened hook, And hey! for the sweets of home! |