Footfalls incessant in the rainy street
Mingle their dreary cadence with the roll
And rhythmic echo of the iron wheel,
Half muffled by the storm’s dull monotone.
Within, the gentle presence of the flame,
With its soft rustle ever and anon,
Serves but to take away the very pain
Of silence absolute.
It is the hour
For contemplation meet. The air is thronged