Contented evening; comfortable joys; The snoozing fire, and all the fields are still: Tranquil delight, no purpose, and no noise— Unless the slow wind flowing round the hill. 'Murry' (the kettle) dozes; little mouse Is rambling prudently about the floor. There's lovely conversation in this house: Words become princes that were slaves before. What a sweet atmosphere for you and me The people that have been here left behind.... Oh, but I fear it may turn out to be Built of a dream, erected in the mind: So if we speak too loud, we may awaken To find it vanished, and ourselves mistaken. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SINCE THOU ART GONE by HENRY VAUGHAN SPRING'S UNFOLDING by IRENE ARCHER |