And with me was a withered dame
As weariful as I.
‘It used to be our home,’ she said;
‘How well I remember well!
Oh that our happy hearth should be
Today an empty shell!’
The door was flailing in the storm
That deafed us with its din;
The roof that kept us once so warm
Now let the snow-drift in.
The floor sagged to the sod below,
The walls caved crazily;
We only heard the wind of woe
Where once was glow and glee.
So there we stood disconsolate
Beneath the Midnight Dome,
And ancient miner and his mate,
Before our wedded home,
Where we had know such love and cheer . . .
I sighed, then soft she said:
‘Do not regret – remember, dear,
We, too, are dead.’

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