ARK! hear the sleet against the pane, And hear the wild winds blow! It chills me with a shuddering dread, This heavy, heaping snow,— I cannot bear that all night long The drifts should deepen so.
O darling, that this storm should beat Upon thy lonesome bed! O darling, that this drifting snow Should heap above thy head, And I not there to shelter thee, And bear the storm instead!
I trim anew the glowing fire,— The flames leap merrily; I make the lamplight bright and clear,— Thou art not here to see. Ah, since I sit here all alone What are they all to me?
O dreary hearth! O lonesome life O empty heart and home! It is not home to me, wherein Thy dear feet never come,— There is no meaning in the word Since thy loved lips are dumb!
So, all in vain the bright flames dance, The ruddy embers glow: I shiver in the mellow light, Because, alas, I know The snow-drifts heap above thy sleep,— This heavy, heaping snow!
ARK! hear the sleet against the pane, 
ARK! hear the sleet against the pane, 