DECEMBER by John Clare

While snow the window-panes bedim,
The fire curls up a sunny charm,
Where, creaming o'er the pither's rim,
The flowering ale is set to warm;
Mirth, full of joy as summer bees,
Sits there, its pleasures to impart,
And children, 'tween their parent's knees,
Sing scraps of carols o'er by heart.

And some, to view the winter weathers,
Climb up the window-seat with glee,
Likening
the snow to falling feathers,
In fancy infant ectasy;
Laughing, with superstitious love,
O'er visions wild that youth supplies,
Of people pulling geese above,
And keeping Christmas in the skies.

As tho' the homestad trees were drest,
In lieu of snow, with dancing leaves,
As tho' the sun-dried martin's nest,
Instead of ickles, hung the eaves,
The children hail the happy day-
As if the snow were April's grass,
And pleas'd, as 'neath the warmth of
May,
Sport o'er the water froze as glass.