Classic Poem

Will he come to-night? There is rain in the sky;
Yonder great clouds like mountains lie;
And a leaden fold hangs over the town,
Coming slowly up where the sun went down.

About its edges the lightnings play
In sheeted flashes, and far away
The thunder utters its sullen roar.
In a tone of menanee — I'll shut the door.

The swell of the wind in the forest trees
Sounds like the surging of distant seas.
The lightning, the thunder, the surging roar,
And the dark'ning sky — I'll watch no more.

He will not come, for the way is long;
Yet the kettle is singing its cheery song,
And the firelight dances, red and bright —
And the meal is spread — but what a night!

Were you here, Love, we should like the storm —
We two, by the firelight, bright and warm —
But I'm lonesome, sad. The flash and roar
Startle me, frighten me, more and more.

What a terrible wind. It has burst the door.
Full into the room the waters pour.
I can only shut it with might and main —
So strong is the push of the gusty rain.

The thunder is distant, now, but the rain
Beats steadily yet on the window pane.
It falls from the eves on the cold door-stone
With its drip, and drip — what a lonesome tone.

It is over at last. I will go to bed;
But there is something missing beneath my head.
What loving simpletons girls must be
To go and get married, and be — like me.