Firewood by John Clare Lyrics

The fir trees taper into twigs and wear
The rich blue green of summer all the year
Softening the roughest tempest almost calm
And offering shelter ever still and warm
To the small path that towels underneath
Where loudest winds--almost as summer's breath
Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below
When others out of doors are lost in frost and snow
And sweet the music trembles on the ear
As the wind suthers through each tiny spear
Makeshifts for leaves; and yet, so rich they show
Winter is almost summer where they grow