Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Happiness of a Winter's Fireside

The Happiness of a Winter's Fireside.

Winter, thou daughter of the storm,I love thee when the day is o'er,Spite of the tempest's outward roar;Queen of the tranquil joys that weaveThe charm around the sudden eve;The thickening footsteps through the gloom,Telling of those we love come home;The candles lit, the cheerful board,The dear domestic group restored;The fire that shows the looks of glee,The infants standing at our knee;The busy hews, the sportive tongue,The laugh that makes us still feel young;The health to those we love, that nowAre far as ocean winds can blow;The health to those who with us grew,And still stay with us tried and true;The wife that makes life glide away,One long and lovely marriage day.Then music comes till—round us creepThe infant listeners half asleep;And busy tongues are loud no more,And winter, thy sweet eve is o'er.