(i)
Come away from the door.
It has grown late;
The air is chill and frore,
And those whom you await
Will not pass by any more.
Close the shutters aright
And make all fast.
We shall have rain belike,
The sky is overcast:
No one will come here to-night.
Sit you down by my side,
Sing an old song.
Since you have been my bride
How well I like these long
Quiet evenings in Advent-tide.