The children sit by the fireside

With their little faces in bloom;

And behind, the lily-pale mother,

Looking out of the gloom,

Flushes in cheek and forehead

With a light and sudden start;

But the father sits there silent,

From the firelight apart.

“Now, what dost thou see in the embers?

Tell it to me, my child,”

Whispers the lily-pale mother

To her daughter sweet and mild.

“O, I see a sky and a moon

In the coals and ashes there,

And under, two are walking

In a garden of flowers so fair.

“A lady gay, and her lover,

Talking with low-voiced words,

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Not to waken the dreaming flowers

And the sleepy little birds.”

Back in the gloom the mother

Shrinks with a sudden sigh.

“Now, what dost thou see in the embers?”

Cries the father to the boy.

“O, I see a wedding-procession

Go in at the church’s door,––

Ladies in silk and knights in steel,––

A hundred of them, and more.

“The bride’s face is as white as a lily,

And the groom’s head is white as snow;

And without, with plumes and tapers,

A funeral paces slow.”

Loudly then laughed the father,

And shouted again for cheer,

And called to the drowsy housemaid

To fetch him a pipe and beer.