a winter night
poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
how shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
from seasons such as these?—shakespeare.
when biting boreas, fell and dour,
sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;
when phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,
far south the lift,
dim-dark'ning thro' the fky show'r,
or whirling drift:
ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
poor bour sweet in sleep was locked,
A Winter Night(1/7)