Pleasant enough in the seed time,

Pleasant enough in the hay time,

Pleasant enough in the grain time,

When oaks don golden gowns,

But the need time,

The grey time,

How bear ye them,

How fare ye then

When the rain clouds whip over the gorse on the downs,

How bear ye, them, how fare ye then?

We lie round the fire and we hark to the wind

As it wails in the gorse and it whips on the down,

And the wet-wood smoke drives us winking blind,

But there’s smoke and wind and woe in the town

Harder to bear

There than here in the saddest month of the weariest year.