Sir, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart I know not how
I can go no longer.
Spectres rise on every side,
Spectres of the Brocken,
With their bony arms out wide
I can see them mocking.
Empty as an old tin can
Is each horrid phantom,
Neither ghost they are nor man,
I can’t understand ’em.
If Napoleon’s in his grave
And Bruin in the mountain,
This must be the ocean wave
Roaring in the fountain.
Eyes no eyes but drops of lead
Pennies and- a farthing,
There is nothing to be said,
But the poor man starving.
See his cold and empty grate,
See his little cottage,
See his cold and empty plate,
He has got no pottage.
Sir the night is darker now,
And the wind blows cruel,
Let us go, I know not how,
And fetch him winter fuel.
(Charles Madge)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Night PoemsBased on Keywords: pottage, farthing, bruin, brocken