Hark! hear the sleet against the pane,
And hear the wild winds blow!
It chills me with a shuddering dread,
This heavy, heaping snow, —
I cannot bear that all night long
The drifts should deepen so.

O darling, that this storm should beat
Upon thy lonesome bed!
O darling, that this drifting snow
Should heap above thy head,
And I not there to shelter thee,
And bear the storm instead!

I trim anew the glowing fire, —
The flames leap merrily;
I make the lamplight bright and clear, —
Thou art not here to see.
Ah, since I sit here all alone
What are they all to me?

O dreary hearth! O lonesome life!
O empty heart and home!
It is not home to me, wherein
Thy dear feet never come, —
There is no meaning in the word
Since thy loved lips are dumb!

So, all in vain the bright flames dance,
The ruddy embers glow:
I shiver in the mellow light,
Because, alas, I know
The snow-drifts heap above thy sleep, —
This heavy, heaping snow!