  ONE cheerless night when winter winds were sowing Over the world their cold, white seeds of snow, While from my window pane the fire was throwing Taunts to the elements with its bright glow, A poor, storm-driven bird, its lost way winging, Paused when it saw the flame’s reflected light; Unto the window for a moment clinging, Then downward fell, forever lost to sight. And so it is, I thought, that poor hearts yearning For more of life, charmed by its outward sheen, Must backward fall, the truth too quickly learning, That death, cold and unyielding, stands between. |
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