We miss the robin twittering on the sill,
Shut from the hedge that late was all his own,
The frugal snipe that sips the freezeless rill,
The thrifty sparrow, and the blackbird lone.
Vain too we seek the social charms that live
Around the thronging hearth, and well-piled board,
When winter's terrors doubled value give
To all the wealth domestic virtues hoard.
Bright change to Spring's delightful bloom we want —
Our fadeless woods know neither spring nor fall;
We miss the visions that the soul enchant.
When Hope depicts the teeming year's recall.
Thus though the clime from rigours may be free,
It wants what rougher zones are glad to boast;
Thus may we learn that by the wise decree,
All have some proper bliss, the neediest most.