| I remember a house where all were good |
| To me, God knows,
deserving no such thing: |
| Comforting smell
breathed at very entering, |
| Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet
wood. |
| That cordial air made those kind people a
hood |
| All over, as a
bevy of eggs the mothering wing |
| Will, or mild
nights the new morsels of spring: |
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right
it should.
|
| Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes,
vales, |
| All the air things wear that build this
world of Wales; |
| Only the inmate
does not correspond: |
| God, lover of souls, swaying considerate
scales, |
| Complete thy creature dear O where it
fails, |
Being mighty a
master, being a father and fond.
|
| |
