(_To W. H. G._)
Without, the heavy vapors in an endless train
Along the river's gorge drag wearily.
Autumn has fled, and winter's mastery
Takes votive tribute from his white domain;
The Northern winds unleashed bring in the rain
Which, blending at the night's austerity,
Turns into hail and white-flaked fantasy
That weirdly haunt the streaming window-pane.
Within, a peace that only heaven sends
To men who, pilgrims though they be, yet know
Life's simple gifts--a home, the heart of friends,
The company of the past; a fragrant briar;
All these were ours, for in the hearth's rich glow
Even Hamlet came and brooded on the fire.