  THE fire is smouldering while the daylight wanes; Rain taps impatient on the window-panes; The waves roll high, and the cold wind complains. The wind complains. Reluctant start the embers to a blaze; Among the ashy drifts the red coal plays; In fairy rings the circling smoke delays. The smoke delays. Ah, lonely life! it is the wind’s sad cry; Ah, only life! calls Echo, floating by; Ah, love is life! it is my heart’s reply. My heart’s reply. Burn low, ye fires that on the hearthstone play! Beat out your life, O waves in dashing spray! My heart chants not your monotone to-day. Oh, not to-day! I hear no dirge, I see no ashes gray— Love! love! love! love! its rapture fills the day! The winter brings to me the bloom of May. The bloom of May. |
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