The taper wastes within yon window-pane, And the blind flutters, where his fevered hand Has raised the sash, to cool his burning brain; But he has passed away from house and land. Cheerly and proudly through the gusty dark The red cock crows! the new-dropt lambkin tries His earliest voice in the home-field, while stark And stiff, on his own bed, the drunkard lies; O'erdone by that steep ride, his weary horse Poises his battered feet and cannot feed; From the near moorland hill, the brawling force Calls loudly - but the dead man takes no heed; While Keeper howls his notice of alarm, And thrills with awe the dusky mountain farm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT: 21 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) PENITENTIAL PSALM by THOMAS WYATT MY LITTLE TASK by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE CHARM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE MAIN DRAG by BERTON BRALEY FROM A PRAIRIE by BEATRICE BRISSMAN |