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When the
wind works a
gainst us
in the
dark,
And
pelts with
snow
The
lowest
chamber
window
on the
east,
And
whispers
with a
sort of
stifled
bark,
The
beast,
'Come
out! Come
out!' ––
It
costs no
inward
struggle
not to
go,
Ah,
no!
I
count our
strength,
Two and a
child,
Those of
us not a
sleep sub
dued to
mark
How the
cold creeps as the
fire dies at
length, ––
How
drifts are
piled,
Dooryard and
road un
graded,
Till
even the
comforting
barn grows
far a
way
And my
heart owns a
doubt
Whether 'tis
in us
to a
rise with
day
And
save our
selves un
aided.