I PHANTASMAL fears, And the flap of the flame, And the throb of the clock, And a loosened slate, And the blind night's drone, Which tiredly the spectral pines intone! II And the blood in my ears Strumming always the same, And the gable-cock With its fitful grate, And myself, alone. III The twelfth hour nears Hand-hid, as in shame; I undo the lock, And listen, and wait For the Young Unknown. IV In the dark there careers - As if Death astride came To numb all with his knock - A horse at mad rate Over rut and stone. V No figure appears, No call of my name, No sound but 'Tic-toc' Without check. Past the gate It clatters - is gone. VI What rider it bears There is none to proclaim; And the Old Year has struck, And, scarce animate, The New makes moan. VII Maybe that 'More Tears! - More Famine and Flame - More Severance and Shock!' Is the order from Fate That the Rider speeds on To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES MACGREGOR'S GATHERING by WALTER SCOTT THE BOOK OF THE LETTER, SELECTION by ABRAHAM ABULAFIA SONNET: 19 by RICHARD BARNFIELD A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 26 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |