Comfort
Winter is at the door,
Winter! Winter!
Winter is at the door:
For all along the worn oak floor
Waver the carpets; and before
The once warm southern orchard wall,
The last October peaches fall;
In vain behind their fellows all
Belated.
Winter is come apace,
Winter! Winter!
Winter is come apace.
The fireside is the cheeriest place,
To wear unfeigned a merry face:
While music tells, though now ’tis chill,
How merle, and maid, and mavis, will,
When spring comes dancing down the hill,
Be mated.
1887.