No warm fireside her awaiteth;
On no couch her limbs shall lie:
For the cold street is her dwelling;
And her chamber’s roof, the sky.
Fiercely blows the northern blast,
Penetrating every fold
Of her thin shawl; and she whispers,
Shivering, “I am very cold!”
Hark! the bells with brazen clangor,
Rising every moment higher,