The Night was wide, and furnished scant With but a single Star - That often as a Cloud it met - Blew out itself - for fear - The Wind pursued the little Bush - And drove away the Leaves November left - then clambered up And fretted in the Eaves -
No Squirrel went abroad - A Dog's belated feet Like intermittent Plush, be heard Adown the empty Street -
To feel if Blinds be fast - And closer to the fire - Her little Rocking Chair to draw - And recollect the Poor -
The Housewife's gentle Task - How pleasanter - said she Unto the Sofa opposite - The Sleet - than May, no Thee.
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