In the Valley of the Elwy

I remember a house where all were goodTo 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 hoodAll over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wingWill, 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.