She hears the storm

There was a time in former years -
   While my roof-tree was his -
When I should have been distressed by fears
   At such a night as this!

I should have murmured anxiously,
   "The pricking rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
   And he is getting old."

But now the fitful chimney-roar,
   The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
   The mud of Mellstock Leaze,

The candle slanting sooty wick'd,
   The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves-drops on the window flicked,
   The clacking garden-hatch,

And what they mean to wayfarers,
   I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
   Which Earth grants all her kind.

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