Midnight

From where I sit, I see the stars,
     And down the chilly floor
   The moon between the frozen bars
     Is glimmering dim and hoar.
   Without in many a peakèd mound
     The glinting snowdrifts lie;
   There is no voice or living sound;
     The embers slowly die.
   Yet some wild thing is in mine ear;
    I hold my breath and hark;
  Out of the depth I seem to hear
    A crying in the dark;

  No sound of man or wife or child,
    No sound of beast that groans,
  Or of the wind that whistles wild,
    Or of the tree that moans:
  I know not what it is I hear;
    I bend my head and hark:
  I cannot drive it from mine ear,
    That crying in the dark.