Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. To Dorothea.<br><br>Dear little maid with laughing eyes, <br>Wistful, wilful, winsome, wise, <br>Fain would I lightly poetise<br>In stanzas cheery;<br>But days are short and nights are long, <br>And shrill winds pipe a restless song, <br>Complaining of the wide world’s wrong<br>In accents dreary.<br><br>Ah! welladay! the mist and rain<br>Drive rudely over hill and plain;<br>December hurries up amain<br>With drum and tabor;<br>And blown to left and blown to right, <br>Scared birds that cannot keep their flight<br>Drop, baffled and outwearied quite<br>By battling labour.<br><br>We cannot speed the blust’ring hours, <br>Or quell the angry Winter’s powers, <br>Or bring the sunshine and the flowers<br>We love so dearly;<br>But we can sing and we can play, <br>And we can make the dullest day<br>As merry as the lark in May<br>That carolls clearly.
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