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.