And, trudging to this senseless tune, That kept on drumming in my head, I followed where the pathway led; But, all too soon, It left the ling, and nigh was lost Among the bent that glimmered grey About my sore-bewildered way: But when, at length, it crossed A brawling burn, I saw, afar, A cottage window light-- A star, but no cold, heavenly star-- A warm red star of welcome in the night. Far off, it burned upon the black hillside, Sole star of earth in all that waste so wide: A little human lantern in the night, Yet, more to me than all the bright Unfriendly stars of heaven, so cold and white. And, as it dimly shone, Though towards it I could only go With stumbling step and slow, It quickened in my heart a kindred glow; And seemed to draw me on That last rough mile or so, Now seen, now hidden, when the track Dipped down into a slack, And all the earth again was black: And from the unseen fern, Grey ghost of all bewildered things, An owl brushed by me on unrustling wings, And gave me quite a turn, And sent a shiver through my hair. Then, again, more fair Flashed the friendly light, Beckoning through the night, A golden, glowing square, Growing big and clearer, As I drew slowly nearer, With eager, stumbling feet; And snuffed the homely reek of peat: And saw, above me, lone and high, A cottage, dark against the sky-- A candle shining on the window-sill. With thankful heart, I climbed the hill; And stood, at last, before The dark and unknown door, Wondering if food and shelter lay behind, And what the welcome I should find, Whether kindly, or unkind: But I had scarcely knocked, to learn my fate, When the latch lifted, and the door swung wide On creaking hinges; and I saw, inside, A frail old woman, very worn and white, Her body all atremble in the light, Who gazed with strange, still eyes into the night, As though she did not see me, but looked straight Beyond me, to some unforgotten past: And I was startled when she said at last, With strange, still voice: "You’re welcome, though you’re late."