• By the fire that loves to tint her
      Cheeks the color of a rose,
    While the wanton winds of winter
      Lose the landscape in the snows,—
    While the air grows keen and bitter,
      And the clean-cut silver stars
    Tremble in the cold and glitter
      Through the twilight’s dusky bars,—
    In a cosey room where lingers
      Happy Time on...

  • Touch lightly Nature's sweet Guitar

    Unless thou know'st the Tune

    Or every Bird will point at thee

    Because a Bard too soon —