FIRST SNOW
Now Hertha hath, without a doubt, Got all her winter peltry out; And, for the weeds dispersèd show Dark through that field of fallen snow, We may felicitate in her The happy choice of minever.
The well beside the rusty shed Hath screened his pent-house lapt in lead In candour of Carthusian cowl, (Soft as the plumage of white owl), Whose pail, for all the long night’s drouth, Hath foam about his sable mouth.
How dark my cottage window eyes Her wonted landscape’s white disguise— Ho, Sulky-face, thine own brick ledge Beareth such burden as the hedge, And thatch, for all the warmth within, Is bearded like a Capuchin!
TO A CHILD RETURNING HOME
UPON A WINDY DAY
Prythee what mad contentments canst thou find, Rosy-cheeked Betsey, in this blust’rous wind Loved of thy Babyhood? Without the door His leaves as running footmen go before Thy lagging feet who with compliant grace Smilest, his kisses mantling on thy face.
Go back and bid him use while yet he may His favour brief and pre-determined day; Bear with his wooing, nor forbid him now Lift the light hair from thine untroubled brow, Whom thou shalt dub a churl, when thou art grown A woman, but for ruffling of thy gown.