Frederick George Scott

COLLECTED POEMS


 

Winter



I love the light in the golden eyes
        Of the cottages up on the hill,
When the sun goes down at eventide,
        And the fields are white and still;
The work of the winter’s day is done,
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        The logs on the hearth-stone gleam,
While the children play at the close of day
        And their elders sit and dream.

The stars, too, love the world at eve,
        For they come out, one by one,
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And look this way at the cottaged hill
        And that at the buried sun.
And never the moan of a wind is heard
        Through all the cloudless deep,
For the God above in his fatherly love
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        Has put the woods to sleep. [Page 116]