Classic Poem

And when warm summer's holiday was o'er,
And the bright acorns patter'd from the trees;
When fires were made, and closed was every door;
And winds were loud, or else a chilling breeze
Came comfortless, driving cold fogs before:
On dismal, shivering evenings, such as these,
To pass by cottage windows, and to see,
Round a bright hearth, sweet faces shining happily;