Classic Poem

Tempest without: within, the mellow glow
Of mingling lamp and firelight over all—
Etchings and water-colours on the wall,
Cushions and curtains of clear indigo,
Rugs damask-red and blue as Tyrian seas,
Deep chairs, black oaken settles, hammered brass,
Translucent porcelain and sea-green glass—
Colour and warmth and light and dreamy ease:

And I sit wondering where are now the hands
That wrought at anvil, easel, wheel, and loom—
Hands slender, swart, red, gnarled—in foreign lands
Or English shops to furnish this seemly room;
And all the while without the windy rain
Drums like dead fingers tapping at the pane.