Woke -- the old King of Cumberland: Yet breathed not nor stirred, But crouched in the darkness, hearkening after A voice he had heard. He leaned upon his foursquare bed, Thumb beneath bristling chin; 'Alas, alas! -- the woeful dream -- The dream that I was in!' The old, old King of Cumberland Muttered, ''Twas not the sea Gushing upon Schlievlisskin rocks That wakened me. 'Thunder from midmost night it was not, For yonder at those bars Burn fiercely toward the Eastern deeps The summer stars.' The old, old King of Cumberland Mused yet, 'Rats ever did Ramp, rustle, clink my spurs, and gnaw My coverlid. 'Oft hath a furtive midnight breeze Along this valance skirred; But in this stagnant calm 'twas not The wind I heard. 'Some keener, stranger, quieter, closer Voice it was me woke. . .' And silence, like a billow, drowned The word he spoke. Fixed now his stare, for limned in dark, Gazing from cowl-like hood, Stark in the vague, all-listening night, A shadow stood. Sudden a gigantic hand he thrust Into his bosom cold, Where now no surging restless beat Its long tale told. Swept on him then, as there he sate, Terror icy chill: 'Twas silence that had him awoke -- His heart stood still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PHONECALL FROM FRANK O'HARA by ANNE WALDMAN THE BEAUTIFUL by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE WITCH IN THE GLASS by SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT THE FLIGHT OF THE GODDESS by CELIA THAXTER I GREET THEE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS LOST TREASURE by MATHILDE BLIND |