Rain on the windows, creaking doors,
       &nbsp With blasts that besom the green,
And I am here, and you are there,
       &nbsp And a hundred miles between!

O were it but the weather, Dear,
       &nbsp O were it but the miles
That summed up all our severance,
       &nbsp There might be room for smiles.

But that thwart thing betwixt us twain,
       &nbsp Which nothing cleaves or clears,
Is more than distance, Dear, or rain,
       &nbsp And longer than the years!