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...COVERING WINGS by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE IMPOSSIBLE INDISPENSIBILITY OF THE ARS POETICA by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH A POEM FROM BOULDER RIDGE by JAMES GALVIN I WANT TO LIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SONNET TO THOSE WHO SEE BUT DARKLY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |