I love the fitful guest that shakes
The casement all day,
And form the mossy elm-tree takes
The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window pane
With thousand others down the lane.
I love to see the shaking twig
Dance till the shut of eve
The sparrow on the cottage rig,
Whose chirp would make believe
That spring was just now flirting by
In summer's lap with flowers to lie
I love to see the cottage smoke
Curl upwards through the naked trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote
On dull November days like these;
The mill sails on the health a-going .
The father from the raven's breast
Falls on the stubble lea,
The acorns near the old crow's nest
Falls pattering down the tree ;
The grunting pigs, that wait for all ,
Scramble and hurry where they fall