midnight
Unconsciously he slowed his pace and lifted his fine , pale face upward : his low , clear baritone flooded the broken woods , carried far out across the silent frozen lake , unechoed ; it was vibrant with the very spirit of yuletide -- love of man and woman . Love , to share again those winged scented days , Those starry skies : To see once more your joyous face , Your tender eyes : Just to know that years so fair might come again , Awhile : Oh ! To thrill again to your dear voice -- Your smile ! It was long past midnight when he reached town , his mood chilling indefinably at sight of its dark houses . `` You 're a queer old town , '' he muttered . `` You go to bed on this night of nights -- yes , and you batten your windows tight against this glorious air -- and all of the other glorious things . '' Passing the suspicious village constable , he penetrated even his callous heart with the most gladsome Christmas greeting he had heard in many a year .