WHEN THE LITTLE ONE IS SAFE.

WHEN THE LITTLE ONE IS SAFE.
505.7

The wind is howling through the streets,
The walls are shaken by the storm;
But tucked between the snowy sheets
My little one is safe and warm.

November’s wrath is roused tonight:
The storm king’s hounds have slipped
their chains And gallop forth with all their might,
The rain Is pelting on the panes:
The ghost of summer moans outside,
And Aeolus in anger roars:
God help the children who abide
Where Want is crouching at the doors.

The world is inshed as if because
It were some guilty, shameful thing:
The bare limbs bend like giant claws
To rend the sod, and, hammering
Against the walls with all his force,
The storm king tarries for a space,
Then rushes madly on bis course
To fret the earth and rend its face.

Ah. let the wind howl through the streets,
Let old November’s worst be done,
For tucked between the snowy sheets
All safely lles my little one.
-S. E. Kisor.