When upon an evening late
I see the icy weather fey,
Striving still to penetrate
The warmth of my abode.

Like the mighty Iron Horse
Roaring down the track,
The wind screams 'round the corners,
To pierce each niche and crack.

Yet though the rain does not abate
There lies a pleasant feeling.
For wind and rain are in the cold,
While I am by the fire, reading.