Sara Teasdale

A Winter Night

  My window-pane is starred with frost,
   The world is bitter cold to-night,
  The moon is cruel, and the wind
   Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

  God pity all the homeless ones,
   The beggars pacing to and fro,
  God pity all the poor to-night
   Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

  My room is like a bit of June,
   Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
  But somewhere, like a homeless child,
   My heart is crying in the cold.