On that we laid the smaller wood;
Then rose the flame—how warm and good!
And when without the storm-wind blew,
What roaring in the chimney flue!
Against the jam—forethought is good—
Is piled the ready-needed wood;
Just opposite—a thing how rare—
Inviting leans the rustic chair,
And in the chimney-corner stand
The tongs and shovel near at hand.