Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed a lighted inn,
And an old tune, a sweet tune, was being played within.
It was full of the laugh of the leaves and the song the wind sings;
It brought to tears and choked the throat, and a catch to the heart-strings.
And it brought a bitter thought of the days that now were dead to me,
The merry days in the old home before I went to sea—
Days that were dead to me indeed. I bowed my head to the rain,
And I passed by the lighted inn to the lonely roads again.