Keen, fitful gusts are whisp’ring here and there
…Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
…The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
…Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
…Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home’s pleasant lair:
For I am brimful of the friendliness
…That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-haired Milton’s eloquent distress,
…And all his love for gentle Lycid drowned;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
…And faithful Petrarch gloriously crowned.
The Bard on the Hill 
Lovely poem. It reminds me of Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening.”
Me, too! It’s that fourth line that reminds of “I have miles to go before I sleep.”