Poetry Archives

My window-pane is starred with frost,
 The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel and the wind
 Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones,
 The beggars pacing to and fro.
God pity all the poor to-night
 Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

My room is like a bit of June,
 Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
 My heart is crying in the cold.