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.