My window-pane is starred with frost,The world is bitter cold to-night, The moon is cruel and the windIs like a two-edged sword to smite¹.

    God pity all the homeless ones,The beggars pacing to and fro. God pity all the poor to-nightWho walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

    My room is like a bit of June,Warm and close-curtained fold on fold, But somewhere, like a homeless child,My heart is crying in the cold.