It was about the midnight hour,
I heard the wind go by;
I heard on the wet mould the shower
Beat, and the bare trees sigh;
I heard your hand upon the pane,
Your footstep at the door,
A moment lingering in the rain,
And then . . . no more!

One moment . . . then the door was wide,
Yet none there was to hark,
Nor any answer when I cried
Your name across the dark;
There was none there . . . although I knew
Your footstep, ah, so plain! . . .
Only the weary wind that blew,
And the driving rain!

Was there no sign you could have brought,
No word that you might say,
To tell what thing it was you sought,
And you so far away?
They say, I heard but the rain fall
And the wind beat . . . yet I,
Should I not know your step, though all
The world went by?