Classic Poem

Once I could sit by the fire hourlong when the dripping eaves
sang cheer to the shelter'd, and listen, and know that the woods drank full,
and think of the morn that was coming and how the freshen'd leaves
would glint in the sun and the dusk beneath would be bright and cool.
Now, when I hear, I am cold within: for my mind drifts wide
where the blessing is shed for naught on the salt waste of the sea,
on the valleys that hold no rest and the hills that may not abide:
and the fire loses its warmth and my home is far from me.