Yesterday, upon the stair / I met a man who wasn’t there / He wasn’t there again today / I wish, I wish he’d go away …

She is getting more and more accustomed to the cold

In our first years here, though we had neighbors within a comfortable half mile, we could see not a single light at night except stars and moon and the glow on the sky above the valley conurbia.

The poore Cotager contenteth himſelfe with Cob for his wals, and Thatch for his couering….