Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1813–1871)

THE RAIN-DROPS patter on the casement still,

So hushed the room, each faint watch-tick I hear,

The crackling of the embers seems to fill

This brooding quiet with an accent clear:

I ’ve looked awhile upon the gifted page,

Glanced at the dingy roofs and leaden sky,

Or paced the floor my mind to disengage,

Chiding the languid hours as they fly;

In vain! the thought of thee o’ermasters all,

Now waking joy, and now a dark surmise,

As Memory spreads her banquet or her pall,

And bids me hopeless sink or gladsome rise:

On what bright wings these lonely hours would flee,

Dared I but feel that thou hast thought of me!