In The Valley Of The Elwy

 I remember a house where all were good
 To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
 Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.

That cordial air made those kind people a hood
 All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
 Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.
 
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
 Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
 Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.

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