  Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed the lighted inn, And an old tune, a sweet tune, was being played within. It was full of the laugh of the leaves and the song the wind sings; It brought the tears and the choked throat, and a catch to the heart-strings. And it brought a bitter thought of the days that now were dead to me, The merry days in the old home before I went to sea— Days that were dead to me indeed. I bowed my head to the rain, And I passed by the lighted inn to the lonely roads again. |
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