In the Valley of the Elwy

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.