And on the wold—
How desolate they are to-night and cold!
—I peeped into the broken panes,
Where the snow, and sleet, and rains
Of many a weary year have stolen,
Till the sashes are smeared, and soaked and swollen.
Little children with tangled hair,
And lips awry and feet half bare,
Huddled around the smouldering fire,
Like beasts half crouching in their lair;