Outside the
sky is light with stars;
There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.
And, alas! for the little almond flowers, The wind is shaking the almond tree.
How little I thought, a year ago, In the horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of
camomile tea.
Light
as feathers the witches fly,
The horn of the moon is plain to see;
By a firefly under a jonquil flower A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.
We might be fifty, we might be five, So snug, so compact,
so wise are we! Under the kitchen-table leg
My knee is pressing
against his knee.
Our shutters
are shut,the fire is low,
The tap is dripping peacefully;
The saucepan shadows on the wall Are black and round and plain to see.