From where I sit, I see the stars, <br /> And down the chilly floor <br /> The moon between the frozen bars <br /> Is glimmering dim and hoar. <br /> Without in many a peakèd mound <br /> The glinting snowdrifts lie; <br /> There is no voice or living sound; <br /> The embers slowly die. <br /> Yet some wild thing is in mine ear; <br /> I hold my breath and hark; <br /> Out of the depth I seem to hear <br /> A crying in the dark; <br /> <br /> No sound of man or wife or child, <br /> No sound of beast that groans, <br /> Or of the wind that whistles wild, <br /> Or of the tree that moans: <br /> I know not what it is I hear; <br /> I bend my head and hark: <br /> I cannot drive it from mine ear, <br /> That crying in the dark.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/midnight-4/
