_For the Table Book._
I know that the weather’s severe, by the noses
That run between eyes smartly lash’d by the fair;
By the coxcombs that muff-led are smiling at roses
Got into the cheeks, and got out of the air.
By the skates, (slipp’ry fish) for the Serpentine’s Fleet
By the rise of the coal; by the shot-birds that fall
By the chilly old people that creep to the heat;
And the ivy-green branches that creep to the wall.
By the chorus of boys sliding over the river,
The grumbles of men sliding over the flags;
The beggars, poor wretches! half naked, that shiver!
The sportsmen, poor horsemen! turn’d out on their nags!
By the snow standing over the plant and the fountain;
The chilbain-tribes, whose understanding is weak;
The wild-ducks of the valley, the drift of the mountain,
And, like Niobé, street-plugs all tears from the Creek:
And I know, by the icelets from nature’s own shops,
By the fagots just cut, and the cutting wind’s tone,
That the weather will freeze half the world if it stops,
If it goes, it will thaw t’other half to the bone.
*, *, P.
_Jan 27._
* * * * *