This is from The Little Guardian, from the 1800s. It’s a small volume with cute stories in it. It’s hard to tell in what part of the 1800s it was made.
This poem is old, and probably was forgotten as soon as it was first read, but it has an important message. Be kind to the less fortunate. Think of the less fortunate. Be thankful that you are comfortable, for so many others do not have that luxury.
Winter is coming! Who cares? Who cares?
Not the wealthy and proud, I trow;
“Let it come,” they cry, “what matter to us
How chilly the blast may blow?
“We’ll feast and carouse in our lordly halls,
The goblet of wine we’ll drain;
We’ll mock at the wind with shouts of mirth,
And music’s echoing strain.
Little care for the biting frost,
While the fire gives forth its blaze;
What to us is the dreary night,
While we dance in the waxlight’s rays?”
‘Tis thus the rich of the land will talk;
But think! ye pompous great,
That the harrowing storm ye laugh at within
Falls bleak on the poor at your gate!
* * * * *
Winter is coming—Oh! think ye great,
Of the roofless, naked, and old;
Deal with them kindly as man with man,
And spare them a tithe of your gold.