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The Widow

 Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snows fell,
Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked,
When a poor Wanderer struggled on her journey
Weary and way-sore.
Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflexions; Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom! She had no home, the world was all before her, She had no shelter.
Fast o'er the bleak heath rattling drove a chariot, "Pity me!" feebly cried the poor night wanderer.
"Pity me Strangers! lest with cold and hunger Here I should perish.
"Once I had friends,--but they have all forsook me! "Once I had parents,--they are now in Heaven! "I had a home once--I had once a husband-- "Pity me Strangers! "I had a home once--I had once a husband-- "I am a Widow poor and broken-hearted!" Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining.
On drove the chariot.
On the cold snows she laid her down to rest her; She heard a horseman, "pity me!" she groan'd out; Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining, On went the horseman.
Worn out with anguish, toil and cold and hunger, Down sunk the Wanderer, sleep had seiz'd her senses; There, did the Traveller find her in the morning, GOD had releast her.

by Walter de la Mare
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