When black frosts pluck the acorns down,
And in the lane the waters freeze;
And‘ thwart red skies the wild-fowl flies,
And death sits grimly‘ mid the trees;
When home-lights glitter in the brown
Of dusk like shaggy eyes,—
Before the door his feet, sweetheart,
And two white arms that greet, sweetheart,
And two white arms that greet.
When ways are drifted with the leaves,
And winds make music in the thorns;
And lone and lost above the frost
The new moon shows its silver horns;
When underneath the lamp-lit eaves
The opened door is crossed,—
A happy heart and light, sweetheart,
And lips to kiss good-night, sweetheart,
And lips to kiss good-night.