I was the boy of all Rochelle
The pure old father trusted well.
But one clear night in the winter's heart,
I wandered out to that place apart.
The shafts of smoke went up to the stars,
Straight as the Northern Streamer spars,
From the town's white roofs, so still it was.
The night in her dream let no word pass,
Nor ever a breath that one could feel;
Only the snow shrieked under my heel.