Chapter XIII

When the diamond grains of fresh snow
On our threshold lie,
I hear your steps that come and go
In the room near by.

You move the clear mirror that beside
The window stood,
And your bunch of keys strikes the drawer
Of the chest of wood.

I hear you stirring now the fire--
The live coal flares;
And hear you place by silent walls
The silent chairs.

I hear you wipe the dust from objects
As you pass,
And your ring resounds against the side
Of a vibrant glass.

And happier am I still, this eve,
With your presence dear--
To feel you close, and not to see,
But always hear.