At twelve o'clock tonight, When every house is dark, Who ride the roads alone? The winds of winter. Hark! The moon is clear above, The earth is hard below; And with a little dust They drive a little snow. They make the maples roar, The withered flowers hiss, Along the way they go On such a night as this. The winds usurp the earth, And even safely housed, Folk must cling fast to sleep Not to be oft aroused. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN DAYS: 3. THE FLOWERS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SONNETS FROM SERIES RELATING TO EDGAR ALLEN POE: 1 by SARAH HELEN POWER WHITMAN A SPIRITUAL AND WELL-ORDERED MIND by HENRY ALFORD A DAY OF DAYS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS BEYOND THE ATOM by JANICE BLANCHARD HILLS OF HOME by WITTER BYNNER FOUR EPISTLES: MIRACLE AT THE FEAST OF PENTECOST: 2 by JOHN BYROM |