Classic Poem

Rosemarie plays in the firelight's blaze,
Her shadow is dark on the wall,
Her eyes are dim with a dream of him;
(Ah how the storm-winds call.)

He will come to-night in the storm's despite,—
(Dark is the woodland way),—
She hears the beat of his horses' feet,
In her heart there is holiday.

More rich, more clear, as the hour draws near,
The clangorous keys rejoice;
In her jubilant heart such thoughts upstart,
And music finds them a voice.

Of those eyes she dreams where the love-light gleams
Warm as the heart of June,
On her lips the while the slow sweet smile
Grows glad with the golden tune.

What the white storm hides in its drifting tides
Will the eyes of dawn betray?
The cold wind calls from the mountain walls,
Dark is the woodland way.

Ah sweet, dream on till the night is gone
And the tender hope is dead;
In those dearest eyes the death-chill lies,
There is snow on that shining head.