The stormy evening closes now in vain, Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain, While here in sheltered house With fire-ypainted walls, I hear the wind abroad, I hark the calling squalls— “Blow, blow,” I cry, “you burst your cheeks in vain! Blow, blow,” I cry, “my love is home again!”
Yon ship you chase perchance but yesternight Bore still the precious freight of my delight, That here in sheltered house With fire-ypainted walls, Now hears the wind abroad, Now harks the calling squalls. “Blow, blow,” I cry, “in vain you rouse the sea, My rescued sailor shares the fire with me!”