They hear a tap on the window, And behold a beckoning hand. There in his sable vestments They see the dead father stand. XXXI. To-night is wretched weather, It snows, and storms, and rains; Out in the pitch-black darkness I gaze through the window-panes. There flickers a lonely candle, Slow winding down the street; And a beldame, with her lantern, Goes hobbling on in the sleet. I think 'tis for eggs and butter That she braves this weather wild, To bake a cake for her daughter, Her grown-up ailing child. Who lies at home in her arm-chair, And sleepily blinks at the light. Over her beautiful forehead Her golden curls wave bright. XXXII. They think my heart is breaking, In sorrow's bitter yoke, I too begin to think it, As well as other folk. Thou large-eyed little darling, Do I not always say I love thee past all telling-- Love gnaws my heart away? But only in my chamber I dare express my pain; For always in thy presence Quite silent I remain. For there were evil angels Who sealed my lips so close. And oh! from evil angels Sprang all my wretched woes. XXXIII. Ah, those pure white lily fingers, Once again could I but kiss them, Press them close against my heart, Melt away in silent weeping! Oh, those clearest eyes of violet Hover day and night before me, And I ponder o'er the meaning Of those lovely blue enigmas. XXXIV. "Did she ne'er express compassion For thy tender situation? Could'st thou never in her glances Read thy love's reciprocation? "Could'st thou ne'er surprise the spirit In her bright eyes unawares? Yet thou surely art no donkey, Dearest friend, in these affairs!" XXXV. They loved one another, but neither Confessed a word thereof. They met with coldest glances, Though pining away with love. At last they parted; their spirits Met but in visions rare. They are long since dead and buried, Though scarcely themselves aware. XXXVI. And when I lamented my cruel lot, You yawned in my face and you answered not. But now that I set it in daintiest rhyme, You flourish my trumpet all the time. XXXVII.