A New Year's Eve in War Time

I



   Phantasmal fears,
   And the flap of the flame,
   And the throb of the clock,
   And a loosened slate,
   And the blind night's drone,
Which tiredly the spectral pines intone!
II
And the blood in my ears
Strumming always the same,
And the gable-cock
With its fitful grate,
And myself, alone.
III
The twelfth hour nears
Hand-hid, as in shame;
I undo the lock,
And listen, and wait
For the Young Unknown.
IV
In the dark there careers -
As if Death astride came
To numb all with his knock -
A horse at mad rate
Over rut and stone.
V

No figure appears,
No call of my name,
No sound but "Tic-toc"
Without check.  Past the gate
It clatters--is gone.
VI
What rider it bears
There is none to proclaim;
And the Old Year has struck,
And, scarce animate,
The New makes moan.
VII
   Maybe that "More Tears! -
   More Famine and Flame -
   More Severance and Shock!"
   Is the order from Fate
   That the Rider speeds on
To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone.
-

1915-1916.