Lonely. Sitting lonely, ever lonely, Waiting, waiting for one only, Thus I count the weary moments passing by ; And the heavy evening gloom Gathers slowly in the room, And the chill November darkness dims the sky. Now the countless busy feet Cross each other in the street, And I watch the faces flitting past my door ; But the step that lingered nightly, And the hand that rapp’d so lightly, And the face that beam’d so brightly, Come no more. By the firelight’s fitful gleaming I am dreaming, ever dreaming, And the rain is slowly falling all around ; And voices that are nearest, Of friends the best and dearest, Appear to have a strange and distant sound. Now the weary wind is sighing, And the murky day is dying, And the wither’d leaves lie scatter’d round my door ; But that voice whose gentle greeting Set this heart so wildly beating At each fond and frequent meeting, Comes no more.