She once had a fire;
But she built it no higher,
And only sat nigher
Till she saw it expire;
And now she is cold as death.
She never will smile
All the lonesome while.
Oh, the mile after mile,
And never a stile !
And never a tree or a stone !
She has not a tear:
Afar and anear
It is all so drear,
But she does not care,
Her heart is as dry as a bone.
None to come near her !
No one to cheer her !
No one to jeer her !
No one to hear her!
Not a thing to lift and hold!
She is always awake
But her heart will not break:
She can only quake,
Shiver, and shake:
The old woman is very cold.
— George MacDonald.
14
