A New Year’s Eve In War Time Thomas Hardy

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