The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The
wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of the sea birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.
But in the fisherman’s cottage
There shines a radiant light,
And
a little face at the window
Pierce out into the night.
Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness
To see some form arise.
And woman’s waving shadow
Is passing to and fro,
Now rising to the ceiling,
Now bowing and bending low.
What tale do the roaring ocean
And the night wind, bleak and wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,
Tell to the little child?
And why do the roaring ocean
And the night wind wild and bleak
As they beat
at the heart of the mother
Drive the colour from her cheek?
