At night when sick folk wakeful lie, <br />I heard the dead coach passing by, <br />And heard it passing wild and fleet, <br />And knew my time was come not yet. <br /> <br />Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past, <br />Who takes the dead coach travels fast, <br />On and away through the wild night, <br />The dead must rest ere morning light. <br /> <br />If one might follow on its track <br />The coach and horses, midnight black, <br />Within should sit a shape of doom <br />That beckons one and all to come. <br /> <br />God pity them to-night who wait <br />To hear the dead coach at their gate, <br />And him who hears, though sense be dim, <br />The mournful dead coach stop for him. <br /> <br />He shall go down with a still face, <br />And mount the steps and take his place, <br />The door be shut, the order said! <br />How fast the pace is with the dead! <br /> <br />Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill, <br />The dead coach climbs the distant hill. <br />Now, God, the Father of us all, <br />Wipe Thou the widow’s tears that fall!<br /><br />Katharine Tynan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dead-coach/
