A fireplace filled the room’s one side
With half a cord o’ wood in—
There warn’t no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin’.
The wa’nut logs shot sparkles out
Toward the pootiest, bless her,
An’ leetle flames danced about
The chiny on the dresser.
Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An’ in amongst ’em rusted