LATE on Christmas Eve, in the street alone, Outside a house, on the pavement-stone, I sang to her, as we'd sung together On former eves ere I felt her tether. -- Above the door of green by me Was she, her casement seen by me; But she would not heed What I melodied In my soul's sore need -- She would not heed. Cassiopeia overhead, And the Seven of the Wain, heard what I said As I bent me there, and voiced, and fingered Upon the strings. . . . Long, long I lingered: Only the curtains hid from her One whom caprice had bid from her; But she did not come, And my heart grew numb And dull my strum; She did not come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STARLIGHT NIGHT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS CREPUSCULE DU MATIN; SONNET by AMY LOWELL GREEK ARCHITECTURE by HERMAN MELVILLE AT BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: ISBRAND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE DEATH OF A DANDY by JOHN PEALE BISHOP DEDICATION OF THE DESIGNS TO BLAIR'S GRAVE: TO THE QUEEN by WILLIAM BLAKE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 23 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |