Xiii

When the diamond grains of fresh snow On our threshold lie, I hear your steps that come and go In the room near by.

You move the clear mirror that beside The window stood, And your bunch of keys strikes the drawer Of the chest of wood.

I hear you stirring now the fire-- The live coal flares; And hear you place by silent walls The silent chairs.

I hear you wipe the dust from objects As you pass, And your ring resounds against the side Of a vibrant glass.

And happier am I still, this eve, With your presence dear-- To feel you close, and not to see, But always hear.