I remember a house where all were good   
  To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:   
  Comforting smell breathed at very entering,   
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.   
That cordial air made those kind people a hood          
  All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing   
  Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:   
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.   
   
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,   
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;    
  Only the inmate does not correspond:   
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,   
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,   
  Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.