 | The British Months |  |
Nor field nor garden now invites
The rambling step to new delights.
Nature to man, and bird, and beast,
Proclaims a dull unwonted rest.
Aside the inactive plough is laid:
The adhesive mould the clotted spade
Defies. Beneath the sheltering hedge,
Beneath the stack's o'erhanging ledge,
The herds and flocks, each cautious form
Turn'd backward to the driving storm,
Crowd fearfully. Their guardians nigh
In folding cloak close mantled lie:
And nigh the dogs, still wont to share
The master's comforts as his care,
Beneath the well-known refuge creep,
Lull'd by the storm to transient sleep.
The rambling step to new delights.
Nature to man, and bird, and beast,
Proclaims a dull unwonted rest.
Aside the inactive plough is laid:
The adhesive mould the clotted spade
Defies. Beneath the sheltering hedge,
Beneath the stack's o'erhanging ledge,
451
Turn'd backward to the driving storm,
Crowd fearfully. Their guardians nigh
In folding cloak close mantled lie:
And nigh the dogs, still wont to share
The master's comforts as his care,
Beneath the well-known refuge creep,
Lull'd by the storm to transient sleep.
| The British Months | |