Twilight
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
1807 to 1882
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The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.
But in fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And little face at the window
Peers out into night.
Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness,
To see some form arise.
And a woman's shadow
Is passing to and fro,
Now rising the ceiling,
Now bowing and bending low.
What do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, bleak wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,
to that little child?
And why do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, wild and bleak,
As they at the heart of the mother,
Drive the from her cheek?
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