Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed the 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 the tears and the choked 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.