Some Things Are Good On Autumn Nights, When With The Storm The Forest Fights, And In The Room The Heaped Hearth Lights Old-Fashioned Press And Rafter: Plump Chestnuts Hissing In The Heat, A Mug Of Cider, Sharp And Sweet, And At Your Side A Face Petite, With Lips Of Laughter. Upon The Roof The Rolling Rain, And Tapping At The Window-Pane, The Wind That Seems A Witch'S Cane That Summons Spells Together: A Hand Within Your Own Awhile; A Mouth Reflecting Back Your Smile; And Eyes, Two Stars, Whose Beams Exile All Thoughts Of Weather. And, While The Wind Lulls, Still To Sit And Watch Her Fire-Lit Needles Flit A-Knitting, And To Feel Her Knit Your Very Heartstrings In It: Then, When The Old Clock Ticks 'Tis Late, To Rise, And At The Door To Wait, Two Words, Or At The Garden Gate, A Kissing Minute.