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I remember a house where all were good
To me, God
knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell
breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I
suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made
those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs
the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new
morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed
of right it should.
Lovely the woods, waters,
meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that
build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not
correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate
scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.
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