WINTER.
��I DEEM thee not unlovely, though thou com'st With a stern visage. To the tuneful bird, The blushing flow'ret, the rejoicing stream, Thy discipline is harsh. But unto man Methinks thou hast a kindlier rninistrv. Thy lengthened eve is full of fire-side joys, And deathless linking of warm heart to heart, So that the hoarse storm passes by unheard. Earth, robed in white, a peaceful Sabbath holds, And keepeth silence at her Maker's feet. She ceaseth from the harrowing of the plough, And from the harvest shouting.
Man should rest
Thus from his fevered passions, and exhale The unbreathed carbon of his festering thought, And drink in holy health. As the tossed bark Doth seek the shelter of some quiet bay, To trim its shattered cordage, and restore Its riven sails so should the toil-worn mind Refit for time's rough voyage. Man, perchance, Soured by the world's sharp commerce, or impaired
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