A New Year's Eve in War Time

1915 - 1916

I

Phantasmal fears,

And the flap of the flame,

And the throb of the clock,

And a loosened slate,

And the blind night's drone,

Which tiredly the spectral pines intone!

II

And the blood in my ears

Strumming always the same,

And the gable-cock

With its fitful grate,

And myself, alone.

III

The twelfth hour nears

Hand-hid, as in shame;

I undo the lock,

And listen, and wait

For the Young Unknown.

IV

In the dark there careers —

As if Death astride came

To numb all with his knock —

A horse at mad rate

Over rut and stone.