The wind's on the
And the night is a-cold,
And Thames runs chill'Twixt mead and hill.
But kind and
Is the old house
And my heart is warm'Midst winter's harm.
Rest then and rest,
And think of the best'Twixt summer and spring,
When all birds
In the town of the tree,
And ye in
And scarce dare move,
Lest earth and its
Should fade
Ere the full of the day.
I am old and have
Many things that have been;
Both grief and
And wane and
No tale I
Of ill or well,
But this I say:
Night treadeth on day,
And for worst or
Right good is rest.
