  Some things are good on Autumn nights, When with the storm the forest fights, And in the room the heaped hearth lights Old-fashioned press and rafter: Plump chestnuts hissing in the heat, A mug of cider, sharp and sweet, And at your side a face petite, With lips of laughter. Upon the roof the rolling rain, And tapping at the window-pane, The wind that seems a witch's cane That summons spells together: A hand within your own awhile; A mouth reflecting back your smile; And eyes, two stars, whose beams exile All thoughts of weather. And, while the wind lulls, still to sit And watch her fire-lit needles flit A-knitting, and to feel her knit Your very heartstrings in it: Then, when the old clock ticks 'tis late, To rise, and at the door to wait, Two words, or at the garden gate, A kissing minute. |
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