Stern winter loves a dirge-like sound.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

And doth, with his eternal motion makeA sound like thunder - everlasting

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,One after one; the sound of rain, and beesMurmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lieSleepless!

By fairy hands their knell is rung; / By forms unseen their dirge is sung.

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.