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Seasons' Comfort

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<h2>THE SEASONS' COMFORT</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <ANTIMG src="images/d.jpg" alt="D" width-obs="45" height-obs="45" />ry thine eyes, Doll! the stars above us shine;   God of His goodness made them mine and thine;   His silver have we gotten, and His gold, Whilst there's a sun to call us in the morn To ply the hook among amid the yellow corn, That such a mine of pretty gems doth hold: For there's the poppy half in sorrow, Greeting sleepy-eyed the morrow, And the corn-flower, dainty tire for a sweetheart sunny-poll'd. </div> <div class="stanza"> Dry thine eyes, Doll! the woods are all our own, The woods that soon shall take a braver tone, What time the frosts first silver Nature's hair; The birds shall sing their best for thee and me; And every sunrise listeners will we be, And so of singing get the goodliest share; When the thrushes sing so sweetly, We would fain be footing featly, But our hearts dance time instead in the throbbing matin air. [38]</div> <div class="stanza"> Dry thine eyes, Doll! there's Love to feed our fire, Not for the buying, but for the desire; Winter ne'er quenched a blaze so bravely fed. And Sleep, I wot, will grudge us not his best: In winter earlier sink the suns to rest, And eke the sooner shall our toils be sped; When in the embers glowing There'll be love-charms worth the knowing, Or, at Yule-tide, mazes threaded, with the mistletoe o'erhead. </div> </div> Arthur S. Cripps. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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