The Night was wide, and furnished scant

589 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, he heard Adown the empty Street— To feel if Blinds be fast— And closer to the fire— Her little Rocking Chair to draw— And shiver for the Poor— The Housewife's gentle Task— How pleasanter—said she Unto the Sofa opposite— The Sleet—than May, no Thee—