THE night is still and the air is keen, Tense with menace the time crawls by, In front is the town and its homes are seen, Blurred in outline against the sky. The dead leaves float in the sighing air, The darkness moves like a curtain drawn, A veil which the morning sun will tear From the face of death. We charge at dawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEN COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE SANTAYANA ODE FOR THE BURIAL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE WOULD LOVE by THOMAS WYATT MARGARET'S SONG by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE WILD PLUM BLOSSOMS by EVA K. ANGLESBURG THE LAST RACE by ERNEST HAROLD BAYNES |