Classic Poem

Women who do not love are free;
All day their thoughts go carelessly.
I know they do not fear at all
When the nights come and the snows fall.

But those who love — their thoughts must trace
All day the well-beloved face,
And they are fearful and grow chill
At the snow's fall and the night's ill.

And they would fire their hearts to burn
Like a bright light at the road's turn,
And flay their souls to keep him warm
In the cold night and the white storm.

Surely I may be glad that I
Softly a night of storms may lie,
For I have watched a woman's face
A black night at a window's space.

Surely I should be happier,
Nor envy — envy — envy her;
But I have heard the word she spoke
In her man's arms as the dawn broke.