The night comes down, in ever-darkening shapes that seem–

To grope, with eerie fingers for the window–then–

To rest to sleep, enfolding me, as in a dream

Faith–might I awaken!

And drips the rain with seeming sad, insistent beat.

Shivering across the pane, drooping tear-wise,

And softly patters by, like little fearing feet.

Faith–this weather!

The feathery ash is fluttered; there upon the pane,–

The dying fire casts a flickering ghostly beam,–

Then closes in the night and gently falling rain.

Faith–what darkness!

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