What tho the wind be cutting,
What tho it whistle shrill?
Herein is only comfort,
Here enters not its chill.
What tho the stars now glitter,
Like icicles of light?
Here glows a softer radiance, – – –
The Yule-log burning bright.
The goblets are raised and emptied,
A grey-beard shouts “Good Cheer!”
Old wine, old books, old pipes, – –
Old friends are gathered here – –
Here by the hearth.