Sweet are old courts with dates above the doors,
And yew-trees clipped in shapes, and cedar walks,
And lawns whereon a quiet peaco*k stalks,
And leaden casements, and black shining floors,
And arm-chairs carved like good cathedral stalls,
And huge French clocks, and bedsteads most inviting,
And stiff old ladies hung upon the walls,
Famed in the days of English memoir-writing:--
Places whose very look kind thoughts might draw
Even to Anne Stuart or William of Na**au.
Sweeter than Tudor-stricken shrines are they,
With pleasant grounds and rivers lingering by,--
Quaint homes, that shed a pure, domestic ray
Over the dull time of English history.