Into The Night, The Winter Night

Into the night, the winter night The ghost went shuddering. For it was cold, for it was frost The moon was hid and from view almost lost. Step after step, the stairs he went Silent and with hooded head bent As the wild wind nocturnal sang As loud a thunder peal in distance rang. With other ghosts and shrouds met he Some went in to the town, some by the sea. No one spoke to other, saluted silent All to all, and then walked with head bent. Ah! this world is of a level higher Than our world much left to desire. With punctuated histories move we Rowdy and talk words that not high be As talk the ghosts and shrouds in silence Without words, and with head bent. Shrill round the church spire the wind Rang twisted chill and frost-unkind. And in some houses chimneys still Smokeless and mute in that stark chill Trembled the fir in Hastings Garden Hoarse passed by the night’s warden The bat that with a muted cry Over the dreamy houses swift he fly. The quiet waves to rise and roar began And in them blood of tempest ran. Trembled the old church bells that night Below the stars quite hidden from sight Of some lone Poet Seer who could not sleep And so he wandered lone and weep: Hour after hour pass, at last of gray The Dawn ends this beauty for a new day.