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!