AGAINST the curtained casement wind and sleet
Rattle and thresh, while snug by our own fire,
In dear companionship that naught may tire,
We sit — you listening, sewing in your seat,
Half-dreaming in the glow of light and heat,
I reading some old tale of love’s desire
That swept on gold wings to disaster dire,
Then rose re-orient from black defeat.
I close the book, and louder yet the storm
Threshes without. Your busy hands are still;
And on your face and hair the light is warm,
As we sit gazing on the coals’ red gleam
In a gold glow of happiness, and dream
Diviner dreams the years shall yet fulfill.