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Poem	The wind's on the wold And the night is a-cold, And Thames runs chill 'Twixt mead and hill. But kind and dear Is the old house here And my heart is warm 'Midst winter's harm. Rest then and rest, And think of the best 'Twixt summer and spring, When all birds sing In the town of the tree, And ye in me And scarce dare move, Lest earth and its love Should fade away Ere the full of the day. I am old and have seen Many things that have been; Both grief and peace And wane and increase No tale I tell Of ill or well, But this I say: Night treadeth on day, And for worst or best Right good is rest.
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