Text #630

In high wind creaks the leafless tree
And nods the fading fern;
The knolls are dun as snow-clouds be,
And cold the sun does burn...
The tears arise unto my eyes,
And thoughts are chill and brown...
[H]o, folk, ho! though it is so
That we no more may roam,
We still will find a cheerful mind
Around the fire at home!