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The Spirit of the Unborn Babe peered through the window-pane, Peered through the window-pane that glowed like beacon in the night; For, oh, the sky was desolate and wild with wind and rain; And how the little room was crammed with coziness and light! Except the flirting of the fire there was no sound at all; The Woman sat beside the hearth, her knitting on her knee; The shadow of her husband’s head was dancing on the wall; She looked with staring eyes at it, she looked yet did not see. She only saw a childish face that topped the table rim, A little wistful ghost that smiled and vanished quick away; And then because her tender eyes were flooding to the brim, She lowered her head.… “Don't sorrow, dear,” she heard him softly say; “It’s over now. We’ll try to be as happy as before