Keen, Fitful Gusts

Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and thereAmong the bushes half leafless, and dry;The stars look very cold about the sky,And I have many miles on foot to fare.Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:For I am brimful of the friendlinessThat in a little cottage I have found;Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.