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Title: Ballade Of The Winter Fireside
Author: Harrison S. Morris [
More Titles by Morris]
An ingle-blaze and a steaming jug;
A lamp and a lazy book;
And, deep in a doubled, downy rug
Your feet to the warmest nook.
And wherever the eye may crook,
A print or a tumbled tome--
For the kettle sings on the blackened hook,
And hey! for the sweets of home!
What though the traveller toil and tug
Where sleety drifts be shook?
What though i' the churchyard graves be dug;
And sweethearts be forsook?
A hearth, and a careful cook,
And cares may go or come!
For the kettle sings on the blackened hook,
And hey! for the sweets of home!
But--curtains down and an elbow hug;
A maid that comes to a look;
A boy to carry a rimy log
From over the frozen brook--
And, a fig for the cawing rook,
Or ghosts in the ruddy gloam!
For the kettle sings on the blackened hook,
And hey! for the sweets of home!
_Envoi._
And yet--or I be mistook--
To a friend the cup should foam;
For the kettle sings on the blackened hook,
And hey! for the sweets of home!
[The end]
Harrison S. Morris's poem: Ballade Of The Winter Fireside
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