My window-pane is starred with frost, 
The world is bitter cold to-night, 
The moon is cruel, and the wind 
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones, 
The beggars pacing to and fro. 
God pity all the poor to-night 
Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

My room is like a bit of June, 
Warm and close-curtained fold on fold, 
But somewhere, like a homeless child, 
My heart is crying in the cold.