The Poems of Henry Kendall/Sitting by the Fire (2)

Ah! the solace in the sitting, Sitting by the fire, When the wind without is calling And the fourfold clouds are falling, With the rain-racks intermitting, Over slope and spire. Ah! the solace in the sitting, Sitting by the fire.

Then, and then, a man may ponder, Sitting by the fire, Over fair far days, and faces Shining in sweet-coloured places Ere the thunder broke asunder Life and dear Desire. Thus, and thus, a man may ponder, Sitting by the fire.

Waifs of song pursue, perplex me, Sitting by the fire: Just a note, and lo, the change then! Like a child, I turn and range then, Till a shadow starts to vex me – Passion's wasted pyre. So do songs pursue, perplex me, Sitting by the fire.

Night by night – the old, old story – Sitting by the fire, Night by night, the dead leaves grieve me: Ah! the touch when youth shall leave me, Like my fathers, shrunken, hoary, With the years that tire. Night by night – that old, old story, Sitting by the fire.

Sing for slumber, sister Clara, Sitting by the fire. I could hide my head and sleep now, Far from those who laugh and weep now, Like a trammelled, faint wayfarer, 'Neath yon mountain-spire. Sing for slumber, sister Clara, Sitting by the fire.