The stormy evening closes now in vain,
Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain,
While here in sheltered house
With fire-ypainted walls,
I hear the wind abroad,
I hark the calling squalls—
“Blow, blow,” I cry, “you burst your cheeks in vain!
Blow, blow,” I cry, “my love is home again!”
Yon ship you chase perchance but yesternight
Bore still the precious freight of my delight,
That here in sheltered house
With fire-ypainted walls,
Now hears the wind abroad,
Now harks the calling squalls.
“Blow, blow,” I cry, “in vain you rouse the sea,
My rescued sailor shares the fire with me!”