Classic Poem

The night is wet and stormy,
And starless is the sky;
'Neath the roaring trees of the forest
I wander silently.

From the keeper's lonely cottage
A glimmering light shines dim;
It shall not tempt me thither,
The place looks stern and grim.

In the old armchair of leather
The grandmother sits upright;
Sightless and rigid as granite,
And silent from morn to night.

Stamping about and cursing,
The keeper's red-headed son
Bursts out into coarse, brute laughter,
As he flings aside his gun.

The fair girl weeps at her spinning,
On the flax her tears fall fleet;
Her father's spaniel whimpers,
And nestles close to her feet.