Classic Poem

The fire was ruddy on my hearth;
It lit the corners of the room.
I poured some sherry from a flask,
And drew two great chairs from the gloom.

And from my cupboard I brought forth
A little supper—just a snack;
Mysteriously she smiled when I
Pulled my best pipe down from its rack.

Outside, the wind howled through the night
In desperate delirium;
And on my roof the rain beat fast,
As if upon a muffled drum.

Her cloak fell back; her hood fell, too;
I saw her wonderful gold hair,
A cataract of glowing fire
That shamed my hearth's reflected flare.

It was her eyes that held me most—
I never dreamed such eyes could be,
Tired as the dust of ancient queens,
Or ruined cities by the sea.

How strangely from their blue-gray depths
They quietly searched through my own;
They held the knowledge of the years—
How much, how much they must have known!

She saw my rows of friendly books,
My littered desk, pipes and cigars—
O homely things, made lovelier now
Since they fell on you—two strange stars!

But always back to me they came,
As if in wonder, half afraid;
Yet even on her fragile hands
No kiss of mine had yet been laid.