The Night was wide, and furnished scant


The Night was wide, and furnished scant
With but a single Star
That often as a Cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear

The Wind pursued the little Bush
And drove away the Leaves
November left then clambered up
And fretted in the Eaves

No Squirrel went abroad
A Dog’s belated feet
Like intermittent Plush, he heard
Adown the empty Street

To feel if Blinds be fast
And closer to the fire
Her little Rocking Chair to draw
And shiver for the Poor

The Housewife’s gentle Task
How pleasanter said she
Unto the Sofa opposite
The Sleet than May, no Thee


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The Night was wide, and furnished scant