Poems of Philip Henry Savage / Philip Henry Savage [electronic text]

IX

I STOOD long time and listened to the wind That tossed the fallen foliage o'er and o'er; Long time I stood; then turned within to bind An evergreen upon the open door. When winter comes to sweep across the floor And freeze the panes perforce the huswife mind Shuts-to the autumnal door and there reclined Battens on books till summer comes once more. I cannot stop her; turning to the shelves Her idleness she feeds on other men; Takes what she finds, complaining not and delves In mines deep-sunken with the golden pen; Then weary grows and longs to see again The spirits of the sky, the woodland elves.