Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.

“A Wind Rose in the Night”

A WIND rose in the night,

(She had always feared it so!)

Sorrow plucked at my heart

And I could not help but go.

Softly I went and stood

By her door at the end of the hall.

Dazed with grief I watched

The candles flaring and tall.

The wind was wailing aloud:

I thought how she would have cried

For my warm familiar arms

And the sense of me by her side.

The candles flickered and leapt,

The shadows jumped on the wall.

She lay before me small and still

And did not care at all.