Old Song

’Tis a dull sight
    To see the year dying,
When winter winds
    Set the yellow wood sighing:
        Sighing, O sighing!

When such a time cometh
    I do retire
Into an old room
    Beside a bright fire:
        O, pile a bright fire!

And there I sit
    Reading old things,
Of knights and lorn damsels,
    While the wind sings—
        O, drearily sings!

I never look out
    Nor attend to the blast;
For all to be seen
    Is the leaves falling fast:
        Falling, falling!

But close at the hearth,
    Like a cricket, sit I
Reading of summer
    And chivalry—
        Gallant chivalry!

Then the clouds part,
Swallows soaring between;
The spring is alive,
And the meadows are green!

I jump up like mad,
Break the old pipe in twain,
And away to the meadows,
The meadows again!

Edward Fitzgerald.