Classic Poem

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.
V

No figure appears,
No call of my name,
No sound but "Tic-toc"
Without check. Past the gate
It clatters--is gone.
VI

What rider it bears
There is none to proclaim;
And the Old Year has struck,
And, scarce animate,
The New makes moan.
VII

Maybe that "More Tears!--
More Famine and Flame--
More Severance and Shock!"
Is the order from Fate
That the Rider speeds on
To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone.