ALL night the north wind blew; the harsh north rain Lashed like a spiteful whip at roof and sill. Now the pale morning lowers, bewildered, chill, Leaning her cheek against the misted pane, Like some worn outcast, sick in heart and brain. The wind that raved all night, though muttering still, Moans fitfully, with faint, irresolute will, Through dreary interludes, its low refrain. In desolate mood I turn to rest once more, Closing my senses to this hopeless morn, This dismal wind. Still must the morning gloom, Still the low sighing pass sleep's muffled door, Till her veiled life is filled with dreams forlorn, With hollow sounds and bodeful shapes of doom. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUNG LINCOLN by EDWIN MARKHAM ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER WHEN I READ THE BOOK by WALT WHITMAN I HAVE PRAYED by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE ELF CHILD by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS SONNET TO THE KYNGE by THEODORE AGRIPPA D' AUBIGNE |