A Year Ago

 I'm sitting by the fire tonight,
 The cat purrs on the rug;
The room's abrim with rosy light,
 Suavely soft and snug;
And safe and warm from dark and storm
 It's cosiness I hug.


Then petulant the window pane
 Quakes in the tempest moan,
And cries: "Forlornly in the rain
 There starkly streams a stone,
Where one so dear who shared your cheer
 Now lies alone, alone.


Go forth! Go forth into the gale
 And pass and hour in prayer;
This night of sorrow do not fail
 The one you deemed so fair,
The girl below the bitter snow
 Who died your child to bear.
"

So wails the wind, yet here I sit
 Beside the ember's glow;
My grog is hot, my pipe is lit,
 And loth am I to go
To her who died a ten-month bride,
 Only a year ago.


To-day we weep: each morrow is
 A littling of regret;
The saddest part of sorrow is
 That we in time forget .
 .
 .

Christ! Let me go to graveyard woe,--
 Yea, I will sorrow yet.

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