Archibald Lampman


From where I sit, I see the stars, 
         And down the chilly floor
The moon between the frozen bars 
         Is glimmering dim and hoar.
Without in many a peakèd mound 
         The glinting snowdrifts lie;
There is no voice or living sound; 
         The embers slowly die.
Yet some wild thing is in mine ear; 
         I hold my breath and hark;
Out of the depth I seem to hear 
         A crying in the dark;

No sound of man or wife or child,
         No sound of beast that groans,
Or of the wind that whistles wild, 
         Or of the tree that moans:
I know not what it is I hear;
         I bend my head and hark:
I cannot drive it from mine ear, 
         That crying in the dark. 

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