"Sister, you've sat there all the day,
⁠Come to the hearth awhile;
The wind so wildly sweeps away,
⁠The clouds so darkly pile.
That open book has lain, unread,
⁠For hours upon your knee;
You've never smiled nor turned your head
⁠What can you, sister, see?"

"Come hither, Jane, look down the field;
⁠How dense a mist creeps on!
The path, the hedge, are both concealed,
⁠Ev'n the white gate is gone;
No landscape through the fog I trace,
⁠No hill with pastures green;
All featureless is nature's face,
⁠All masked in clouds her mien.

"Scarce is the rustle of a leaf
⁠Heard in our garden now;
The year grows old, its days wax brief,
⁠The tresses leave its brow.
The rain drives fast before the wind,
⁠The sky is blank and grey;
O Jane, what sadness fills the mind
⁠On such a dreary day!"
"You think too much, my sister dear;
⁠You sit too long alone;
What though November days be drear?
⁠Full soon will they be gone.
I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair,
⁠Come, Emma, sit by me;
Our own fireside is never drear,
Though late and wintry wane the year,
⁠Though rough the night may be."

"The peaceful glow of our fireside
⁠Imparts no peace to me:
My thoughts would rather wander wide
⁠Than rest, dear Jane, with thee.
I'm on a distant journey bound,
⁠And if, about my heart,
Too closely kindred ties were bound,
⁠'T would break when forced to part.

"'Soon will November days be o'er:'
⁠Well have you spoken, Jane:
My own forebodings tell me more,
For me, I know by presage sure,
⁠They'll ne'er return again.
Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me
⁠Will bring or joy or gloom;
They reach not that Eternity
⁠Which soon will be my home."
Eight months are gone, the summer sun
⁠Sets in a glorious sky;
A quiet field, all green and lone,
⁠Receives its rosy dye.
Jane sits upon a shaded stile,
⁠Alone she sits there now;
Her head rests on her hand the while,
⁠And thought o'ercasts her brow.

She's thinking of one winter's day,
⁠A few short months ago,
When Emma's bier was borne away
⁠O'er wastes of frozen snow.
She's thinking how that drifted snow
⁠Dissolved in spring's first gleam,
And how her sister's memory now
⁠Fades, even as fades a dream.

The snow will whiten earth again,
⁠But Emma comes no more;
She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain,
⁠This world for Heaven's far shore.
On Beulah's hills she wanders now,
⁠On Eden's tranquil plain;
To her shall Jane hereafter go,
⁠She ne'er shall come to Jane!