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!
This poem is in the public domain.