WELL TO DO

As wind might blow along the snow,
By shelter'd nooks, and hollow caves,
By icy eaves, and frosty leaves,

And streams too hard to run in waves,
No inn-board then, in swinging slack,
And creaking shrill, would keep me back,
Would call me back, by creaking shrill,
From home and you, beyond the hill,
Though we were well to do.

When down before our porchèd door,
The moonshade of the house might lie,

Our room would show a ruddy glow

To muffled people passing by,

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For we had flames before our feet,

And on our board, both meal and meat;

Both meal and meat upon our board,

Without a stint, could we afford,

So well were we to do.

When snow was deep, for our few sheep, And made their whitest wool look brown, And cold-pinched cows, below white boughs, Had no warm ground to lay them down, Then I'd a roof for ev'ry head,

For ev'ry hide a strawen bed,

A strawen bed for ev'ry hide,

And cribs of hay all fill'd with pride,

So well was I to do.

When clad anew, from crown to shoe,
The children walk'd with prouder pace,
And you might tell, or only spell,

Of what would suit your shape or face,

And you came out, and look'd so fine,

I felt quite proud to call you mine, To call you mine I felt quite proud, Before our friends, or in a crowd, When we were well to do.

THE GROVE

'Twas there in summer down the grove,

Where I and long-lost friends would rove,

Where then the gravelbedded brook,

O'ershaded under hanging boughs,

On-trickled round the quiet nook,

Or lay in pools for thirsty cows.

And here are still the stones we trod,
In stepping o'er the stream, dryshod,
And here are leaves that lie all dead,
About the lofty-headed-tree,

Where leaves then quiver'd overhead,

All playfully alive as we.

While now, by moonlight, nightwinds keen,

May shake the ivy, ever green,

By this old wall, and hemlocks dry

May rattle by the leafless thorn,

I still can fancy people by

That I have lost, to live forlorn.