Song by an Old Shepherd
WHEN silver snow decks Sylvio’s clothes,
And jewel hangs at shepherd’s nose,
We can abide life’s pelting storm,
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Whilst Virtue is our walking-staff,
And Truth a lantern to our path,
We can abide life’s pelting storm,
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Blow, boisterous wind, stern winter frown,
Innocence is a winter’s gown.
So clad, we’ll abide life’s pelting storm,
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Appendix to Poetical Sketches
