Works

I sit by the fire in the gloaming,
In the depths of my easy chair,
And I ponder, as old men ponder,
Over times and things that were.

And outside is the gusty rushing,
Of the fierce November blast,...

First of women, best of friends
Take what a village rhymer sends,
A tear wet trifle sent to tell
The giver must bid thee farewell!
And shall I then when o'er the sea
Forget thee? No, it cannot be...

Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall,
And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth,
The little drooping flow'rets on thee call,
Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth...