LOUD roared the tempest, <br /> Fast fell the sleet; <br />A little Child Angel <br /> Passed down the street, <br />With trailing pinions <br /> And weary feet. <br /> <br />The moon was hidden; <br /> No stars were bright; <br />So she could not shelter <br /> In heaven that night, <br />For the Angels’ ladders <br /> Are rays of light. <br /> <br />She beat her wings <br /> At each windowpane, <br />And pleaded for shelter, <br /> But all in vain;— <br />“Listen,” they said, <br /> “To the pelting rain!” <br /> <br />She sobb’d, as the laughter <br /> And mirth grew higher, <br />“Give me rest and shelter <br /> Beside your fire, <br />And I will give you <br /> Your heart’s desire.” <br /> <br />The dreamer sat watching <br /> His embers gleam, <br />While his heart was floating <br /> Down hope’s bright stream; <br />…So he wove her wailing <br /> Into his dream. <br /> <br />The worker toil’d on, <br /> For his time was brief; <br />The mourner was nursing <br /> Her own pale grief; <br />They heard not the promise <br /> That brought relief. <br /> <br />But fiercer the tempest <br /> Rose than before, <br />When the Angel paus’d <br /> At a humble door, <br />And ask’d for shelter <br /> And help once more. <br /> <br />A weary woman, <br /> Pale, worn, and thin, <br />With the brand upon her <br /> Of want and sin, <br />Heard the Child Angel <br /> And took her in: <br /> <br />Took her in gently, <br /> And did her best <br />To dry her pinions; <br /> And made her rest <br />With tender pity <br /> Upon her breast. <br /> <br />When the eastern morning <br /> Grew bright and red, <br />Up the first sunbeam <br /> The Angel fled; <br />Having kiss’d the woman <br /> And left her—dead.<br /><br />Adelaide Anne Procter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-requital/
